Fanny  t  Burney: 


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ANDHERYifl     FRIENDS 


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WITH 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


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FANNY     BURNEY 


AND  HER  FRIENDS 


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FANNY   BURNEY 

(MADAME   D'ARBLAY) 

!/ 

AND    HER    FRIENDS 


SELECT  PASSAGES  FROM  HER   DIARY  AND 
OTHER   WRITINGS 


EDITED    BY 

Late  Fellow  of  Trinity  Col/ej^e,    Caml'ridq 


with  nime  illustrations  after 
Reynolds,  Gainsborough,  Copley,  and  West 


SECOND   EDITION 


NEW  YORK 
SCRIBNER    AND     WELFORD 

1890 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER  I. 

I'AGF, 

Birth — Parentage— The  Macburneys — Early  Life  of  Dr.  Burney — Fulk 
Greville — Esther  Sleepe  —  Lynn — Poland  Street  —  Frances  Burney's 
Brothers  and  Sisters — Her  Backwardness  in  Childhood — Her  Mother's 
Death— David  Garrick — The  Old  Lady — The  Wig-maker — Neglect  of 
Fanny's  Education — Her  Taste  for  Scribbling — Samuel  Crisp — His 
Early  Life — His  Tragedy — Its  Failure — His  Chagrin— His  Life  at 
Hampton — His  Retirement  from  the  World — Crisp  renews  his  Acquaint- 
ance with  Burney— Becomes  the  Adviser  of  the  Family — Burney's  Ami- 
able Temper — Chesington  Hall— Its  Quaint  Interior — Contrast  between 
Fanny  and  her  Elder  Sister — Burney's  Second  Marriage — Change  of 
Plans — Mrs.  Burney  lectures  Fanny — An  Auto  da  Fc — Origin  of 
'  Evelina  ' — Burney  takes  his  Doctor's  Degree — His  Essay  on  Comets- 
Preparations  for  the  '  History  of  Music ' — Musical  Tour  in  France  and 
Italy — House  in  Queen  Square— German  Tour — Fanny's  Occupation 
during  his  Absence — Removal  to  St.  Martin's  Street— Newton's  House 
— The  Observatory — Fanny's  Arrival  at  Womanhood  -  -         1-31 


CHAPTER  II. 

Life  in  St.  Martin's  Street — Increase  of  Fame  and  Friends — Garrick's 
First  Call — Confusion — The  Hairdresser — '  Tag-rag  and  Bobtail ' — The 
History  of  Histories — Imitation  of  Dr.  Johnson — The  Great  Roscius — 
Mr.  Crisp's  Gout — Correspondence  between  him  and  Fanny — Dr. 
Burney's  Concerts — Abyssinian  Bruce — Supper  in  St.  Martin's  Street — 
Italian  Singers — A  Musical  Evening — Visit  of  Count  Orloff — His  Stature 
and    Jewels — Condescension — A    Matrimonial    Duet — The    Empress's 


952D86 


vi  Contents. 

PAGE 

Miniature— Jemmy  Twitcher— Present  State  of  St.  Martin's  Street— Mr. 
and  Mrs,  Thrale— Dr.  Johnson— Visit  of  the  Thrales  and  Johnson- 
Appearance  of  Dr.  Johnson — His  Conversation — His  Contempt  for 
Music— Meeting  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Greville— Mrs.  Thrale  Defiant 
— Signer  Piozzi         ...----       32-59 


CHAPTER  HI. 

Evelina  ' — Date  of  its  Composition — Negotiations  with  Publishers — Dr. 
Burney's  Consent — Publication — Illness  of  the  Author — Visit  to  Chesing- 
ton — Her  Father  reads  the  Book — Mrs.  Thrale  and  Mrs.  Cholmondeley 
— Exciting  News — Fanny's  Success — Nancy  Dawson — The  Secret  told 
to  Mr.  Crisp — Characters  in  'Evelina' — Dinner  at  Streatham — Dr. 
Johnson — David  Garrick — The  Unclubbable  Man — Curiosity  as  to 
Authorship  of  '  Evelina  '—The  Bookseller  in  the  Dark — Visits  to  the 
Thrales  —  Table  Talk— Mr.  Smith— Goldsmith —Johnson  and  the 
Scotch — Civil  for  Four— Sir  Joshua  Reynolds — Mrs.  Montagu— Boswell 
— The  Branghtons — Mrs.  Cholmondeley — Talk  with  Sir  Joshua — Is  it 
True  ? — Mrs.  Cholmondeley's  Whimsical  Manner — Visit  to  her  House 
— Mr.  Cumberland — A  Hint  for  a  Comedy — A  Charmed  Circle — 
Sheridan — Not  a  Fair  Question — Pressed  to  Write  for  the  Stage — 
Flattered  by  Compliments    ------       60-99 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Return  to  Streatham — Murphy  the  Dramatist — A  Proposed  Comedy — 
•  The  Witlings ' —Adverse  Judgment  of  Mr.  Crisp  and  Dr.  Burney — 
Fanny  to  Mr.  Crisp — Dr.  Johnson  on  Miss  Burney — A  Visit  to  Brighton 
— Cumberland  —  An  Eccentric  Character  —  Sir  Joshua's  Prices — 
Tragedies — Actors  and  Singers— Regrets  for  the  Comedy— Crisp's 
Reply — The  Lawrence  Family  at  Devizes — Lady  Miller's  Vase — The 
Gordon  Riots— Precipitate  Retreat— Grub  Street — Sudden  Death  of 
Mr.  Thrale — Idleness  and  Work— A  Sister  of  the  Craft — The  Mauso- 
leum of  Julia — Progress  of  '  Cecilia  '  through  the  Press— Crisp's  Judg- 
ment on  'Cecilia' — Johnson  and  'Cecilia' — Publication  of  'Cecilia' 
— Burke — His  Letter  to  Miss  Burney — Assembly  at  Miss  Monckton's 
— New  Acquaintances — Soame  Jenyns — Illness  and  Death  of  Crisp  — 
Mrs.  Thrale's  vStruggles— Ill-health  of  Johnson — Mr.  Burney  Organist  of 
Chelsea  Hospital— Mrs.  Thrale  marries  Piozzi — Last  Interview  with 
Johnson— His  Death  -.-.--     100-131 


Contents.  vii 


CHAPTER  V. 

PAGE 

Mrs.  Delany — Her  Childhood — Her  First  Marriage — Swift — Dr.  Delany 
— The  Dowager  Duchess  of  Portland — Mrs.  Delany  a  Favourite  at 
Court— Her  Flower-Work — JNIiss  Burney's  First  Visit  to  Mrs.  Delany — 
Meets  the  Duchess  of  Portland — Mrs.  Sleepe — Crisp — Growth  of 
Friendship  with  Mrs.  Delany — Society  at  her  House — Mrs.  Delany's 
Reminiscences — The  Lockes  of  Norbury  Park — Mr.  Smelt — Dr.  Burney 
has  an  Audience  of  the  King  and  Queen — The  King's  Bounty  to  Mrs. 
Delany — Miss  Burney  Visits  Windsor — Meets  the  King  and  Queen — 
'  Evelina  ' — Invention  Exhausted — The  King's  Opinion  of  Voltaire, 
Rousseau,  and  Shakespeare — The  Queen  and  Bookstalls — Expectation — 
Journey  to  Windsor — The  Terrace — Dr.  Burney's  Disappointment — 
Proposal  of  the  Queen  to  Miss  Burney — Doubts  and  Fears — An  Inter- 
view— The  Decision — Mistaken  Criticism — Burke's  Opinion — A  Mis- 
conception— Horace  Walpole's  Regret — Miss  Burney's  Journals  of  her 
Life  at  Court — Sketches  of  Character — The  King  and  Queen — Mrs. 
Schwellenberg — The  Queen's  Lodge — Miss  Burney's  Apartments — A 
Day's  Duties — Royal  Snuff — Fictitious  Names  in  the  Diary — The  Prin- 
cesses— A  Royal  Birthday — A  Walk  on  the  Terrace — The  Infant  Prin- 
cess Amelia  ......  132-166 

CHAPTER  VL 

Royal  Visit  to  Nuneham— A  Present  from  the  Queen — Ofhcial  Exhorta- 
tions— -Embarrassments  at  Nuneham — A  Laborious  Sunday — Hair- 
dressing — The  Court  visits  Oxford — Journey  thither — Reception  by  the 
University — Address  and  Reply  —  Kissing  Hands — Christchurch — 
Fatigues  of  the  Suite— Refreshment  under  Difficulties — A  Surprise — 
The  Routine  of  Court  Life — The  Equerries- — Draughts  in  the  Palace — 
Early  Prayers — Barley-water — The  London  Season — Mrs.  Siddons — 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  Apartments — Her  Tame  Frogs — Her  Behaviour 
to  Miss  Burney — Cruel  Treatment- -A  Change  for  the  Better — News- 
paper Reports — Conversation  with  the  Queen — Miss  Burney  as  Reader 
— Her  .-Utainments,  Tastes,  and  Power      ...  -     167-188 

CHAPTER  VIL 

The  Trial  of  Warren  Hastings — Westminster  Hall — Description  of  it  on 
the  Opening  Day  of  the  Trial— Edmund  Burke — The  other  Managers 
— Procession  of  the  Peers — Entrance  of  the  Defendant — The  Arraign- 
ment—  Speech  of  Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow — Reply  of  Warren  Hastings 


viii  Contents. 

PACE 

— Opening  of  the  Trial — Mr.  Windham— His  Admiration  of  Dr. 
Johnson — His  Reflections  on  the  Spectacle — Bearing  of  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor—Windham  on  Hastings— William  Pitt— Major  Scott — Conversa- 
tion with  Windham— Pariisanship—Closeof  the  First  Day's  Proceedings 
— Conference  on  it  with  the  Queen — Another  Day  at  the  Trial — Burke's 
Great  Speech — Resemblance  between  Hastings  and  Windham — Fox's 
Eloquence— Death  of  Mrs.  Delany  ...  -     1S9-200 

CHAPTER  VHI. 

The  King's  Health— Royal  Visit  to  Cheltenham— Excursions— Robert 
Raikes— Colonel  Digby— The  Duke  of  York— The  Court  attends  the 
Musical  Festival  at  Worcester — Return  to  Windsor — M.  de  Lalande, 
the  Astronomer — His  Compliments — His  Volubility — Illness  of  the 
King — The  King  grows  worse — 'The  Queen  is  my  Physician  ' — Alarm 
and  Agitation— Grief  of  the  Queen— The  King  Insane — Arrival  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales — Paroxysm  of  the  King  at  Dinner — The  Queen  111 — 
The  Physicians — The  Royal  Pair  separated — The  Prince  takes  the 
Government  of  the  Palace — Prayers  for  the  King's  Recovery — The 
King  and  his  Equerries — Sir  Lucas  Pepys — A  Privy  Council — Prepara- 
tions for  leaving  Windsor — Departure  for  Kew — Mournful  Spectacle — 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  arrives  .....     201-229 

CHAPTER  IX. 

State  of  Kew  Palace— Dr.  Willis  and  his  Son  called  in — Progress  under 
the  New  Doctors — Party  Spirit— The  Regency  Question— Attacks  on 
the  Queen — Fluctuations  in  the  King's  State — Violence  of  Burke— Ex- 
traordinary Scene  between  the  King  and  Miss  Burney  in  Kew  Gardens 
— Marked  Improvement  of  the  King — The  Regency  Bill  postponed — 
The  King  informs  Miss  Burney  of  his  Recovery — The  Restoration — 
Demonstrations  of  Joy--Return  to  Windsor — Old  Routine  resumed— 
Reaclion     --------     230-250 

CHAPTER  .X. 

Royal  Visit  to  Weymouth — Lyndhurst — Village  Loyalty — Arrival  at  Wey- 
mouth— Bathing  to  Music  — Mrs.  Gwynn — Mrs.  Siddons — The  Royal 
Party  at  the  Rooms— First  Sight  of  Mr.  Pitt— The  Marquis  of  Salisbury 
— Royal  Tour— Visit  to  Longleat— Mrs.  Delany — Bishop  Ken — Tot- 
tenham Park— Return  to  Windsor— Progress  of  the  French  Revolution 
— Colonel  Digby's  Marriage — Miss  Burney's  Situation — A  Senator — Tax 
on  Bachelors— Reading  to  the  Queen — Miss  Burney's  Melancholy— 


Contents.  ix 

PAGE 

Proposal  for  her  Retirement — Her  Tedious  Solitude — Her  Literary  In- 
activity— Her  Declining  Health — A  Friendly  Cabal — Windham  and  the 
Literary  Club — James  Boswell — Miss  Burney's  Memorial  to  the  Queen 
— Leave  of  Absence  proposed — The  Queen  and  Mrs.  Schvvellenberg — • 
Serious  Illness  of  Miss  Burney — Discussions  on  her  Retirement — A  Day 
at  the  Hastings  Trial — The  Defence — A  Lively  Scene — The  Duke  of 
Clarence — Parting  with  the  Royal  Family — Miss  Burney  receives  a 
Pension — Her  Final  Retirement     -----     251-277 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Chelsea  Hospital — Tour  to  Devonshire — Visit  to  Bath — Reminiscences — 
The  Duchess  of  Devonshire — Return  Home—  Literary  Pursuits  resumed 
— Attempts  at  Tragedy — Social  Engagements — Death  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds — A  Public  Breakfast  at  Mrs.  Montagu's — Mrs.  Hastings — 
Mr.  Boswell — Visit  to  Mrs.  Crewe — The  Burke  Family — Meeting  with 
Edmund  Burke — Burke  and  the  French  Revolution — Charles  Fox — 
Lord  Loughborough— Mr.  Erskine — His  Egotism — The  French  Refugees 
in  England — Bury  St.  Edmunds — Madame  de  Genlis — The  Duke  de 
Liancourt — The  Settlement  at  Mickleham — Count  de  Narbonne — The 
Chevalier  d'Arblay — Visit  of  Miss  Burney  to  Norfolk — Death  of  Mr. 
Francis — Return  to  London  .  .  -  -  .     278-292 

CHAPTER  XIL 

Miss  Burney  at  Norbury  Park — Execution  of  the  French  King — Madame 
de  Stael  and  Talleyrand  at  Mickleham — Miss  Burney's  Impressions  of 
M.  d'Arblay — Proposed  Marriage — Visit  to  Chesington — The  Marriage 
takes  place — A  Happy  Match — The  General  as  Gardener — Madame 
d'Arblay  resumes  her  Pen — Birth  of  a  Son — '  Edwy  and  Elgiva  ' — 
Acquittal  of  Warren  Hastings — Publishing  Plans — The  Subscription 
List — Publication  of  '  Camilla  ' — Visit  of  the  Author  to  Windsor — Inter- 
view vith  the  King  and  Queen — A  Compliment  from  their  Majesties — 
The  Royal  Family  on  the  Terrace — Princess  Elizabeth — Great  Sale  of 
'  Camilla  ' — Criticisms  on  the  Work — Declension  of  Madame  d'Arblay's 
Style  —  Camilla  Cottage  — Wedded  Happiness  —  Madame  d'Arblay's 
Comedy  of  '  Love  and  Fashion  '  withdrawn — Death  of  Mrs.  Phillips — 
Straitened  Circumstances— The  d'Arblays  go  to  France — Popularity  of 
Bonaparte — Reception  at  the  Tuileries  and  Review — War  between 
England  and  France — Disappointments — Life  at  Passy— Difficulty  of 
Correspondence— Madame  d'Arblay's  Desire  to  return  to  England — 
Sails  from  Dunkirk  >  ,  ,  r  ,  293-314 


Contents. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Madame  d'Arblay's  Plans  for  her  Son — Landing  in  England— Arrival  at 
Chelsea — Saddening  Change  in  Dr.  Burney— Alexander  d'Arblay  at 
Cambridge— Publication  of  the  '  Wanderer ' — Death  of  Dr.  Burney — 
Madame  d'Arblay  presented  to  Louis  XVIII.— M.  d'Arblay  appointed 
to  the  Corps  de  Gardes  du  Roi — Arrives  in  England  and  carries 
Madame  back  to  France — Madame  d'Arblay  presented  to  the  Duchesse 
d'Angouleme — The  Hundred  Days — Panic  at  Brussels— M.  d'Arblay 
invalided  —  Settles  in  England  —  His  Death  —  Remaming  Days  of 
Madame  d'Arblay— Visit  from  Sir  Walter  Scott— The  Memoirs  of  Dr. 
Burney— Tributes  to  their  value— Death  of  Alexander  d'Arblay — Death 
of  Madame  d'Arblay — Conclusion-  -  -  -  •     S'S'j 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Fanny  Burney,  after  E.  Burney Frontispiece. 

Dr.  Johnson,  after  Reynolds 52 

Theophila  Palmer,  a/?^r  Reynolds no 

Queen  Charlotte  and  the  Princess  Royal,  after  West       .        .  146 
The  Dukes  of  Cumberland,  Sussex,  and  Cambridge,  and  the 

Princesses  Augusta,  Elizabeth  and  Mary,  a/?£r  West    .        .  150 

The  Princesses  Mary,  Sophia,  and  Amelia,  after  Copley      .         .  164 

Warren  Hastings,  after  Reynolds 192 

Mrs.  Siddons,  after  Gainsborough 180 

Edmund  Burke,  after  Reynolds .  284 


' '  \    '  ■"'»'  ' '» ' 


Fanny  Burney  and  her  Friends, 


•o^o> 


CHAPTER   I. 

Birth — Parentage — The  Macburneys- — Early  Life  of  Dr.  Burney — Fulk  Greville 
— Esther  Sleepe — Lynn — Poland  Street — Frances  Burney's  Brothers  and 
Sisters — Her  Backwardness  in  Childhood — Her  Mother's  Death— David 
Garrick — The  Old  Lady — The  Wig-maker — Neglect  of  Fanny's  Education 
— Her  Taste  for  Scribbling — Samuel  Crisp — His  Early  Life — His  Tragedy 
— Its  Failure — His  Chagrin — His  Life  at  Hampton — His  Retirement  from 
the  World — Crisp  renews  his  Acquaintance  with  Burney — Becomes  the 
Adviser  of  the  Family — Burney"s  Amiable  Temper — Chesington  Hall — 
Its  Quaint  Interior — Contrast  between  Fanny  and  her  Elder  Sister — Burney's 
Second  Marriage — Change  of  Plans — Mrs.  Burney  lectures  Fanny^  An  Atito 
da  Ft' — Origin  of '  Evelina  ' — Burney  takes  his  Doctor's  Degree — His  Essay 
on  Comets — Preparations  for  the  'History  of  Music' — Musical  Tour  in 
France  and  Italy — House  in  Queen  Square — German  Tour — Fanny's  Occu- 
pation during  his  Absence — Removal  to  St.  Martin's  Street  —  Newton's 
House — The  Observatory — Fanny's  Arrival  at  Womanhood. 

Frances  Burney  was  born  at  King's  Lynn  on  the  13th 
of  June,  1752.  She  was  the  second  daughter,  and  third 
child,  of  Dr.  Charles  Burney,  author  of  the  well-known 
'  History  of  Music,'  by  Esther  Sleepe,  his  first  wife. 

It  has  been  stated,*  we  know  not  on  what  authority, 
that  Dr.  Burney  was  a  descendant  in  the  fifth  degree  of 
James  Macburney,  a  native  of  Scotland,  who  attended 
King  James  I.  when  he  left  that  country  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  English  throne.  The  doctor  himself  was 
certainly  unacquainted  with  this  fact,  if  fact  it  be.  His 
grandfather  and  father  were  each  named  James  Macburney, 

*  Owen  and  Blakeway's  '  History  of  Shrewsbury,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  388. 


•kC'/'-i    I  .'.'.  The  Macburneys. 

but  they  were  both  born  at  the  village  of  Great  Hanwood, 
in  Shropshire,  where  the  former  inherited  a  considerable 
estate  ;  there  was  no  trace  in  their  connections  of  Celtic 
extraction  ;  and  Charles  has  recorded  that  he  could  never 
find  at  what  period  any  of  his  ancestors  lived  in  Scotland 
or  Ireland.  Doubtless  it  was  the  adventures  of  the  two 
historical  James  Macburneys  which  led  Macaulay  to 
conclude  that  the  family  was  of  Irish  origin.  James 
the  3'ounger  offended  his  father  by  eloping  with  an  actress 
from  the  Goodman's  Fields  Theatre,  'The  old  gentle- 
man could  devise  no  more  judicious  mode  of  wreaking 
vengeance  on  his  undutiful  boy  than  by  marrying  the 
cook.'  He  married  some  sort  of  domestic,  at  any  rate, 
who  brought  him  a  son,  named  Joseph,  to  whom  he 
left  all  his  property.  Joseph,  however,  soon  ran  through 
his  fortune,  and  was  reduced  to  earn  his  bread  as  a 
dancing-master  in  Norfolk.  His  elder  brother  James 
survived  the  actress,  and  though  a  poor  widower  with  a 
swarm  cf  children,  gained  the  hand  of  Miss  Ann  Cooper, 
an  heiress  and  beauty,  who  had  refused  the  addresses  of 
the  celebrated  Wycherley.  After  his  second  marriage, 
James  followed  the  profession  of  a  portrait-painter,  first 
at  Shrewsbury,  and  later  at  Chester.  The  number  of  his 
children  rose  to  twenty-two ;  the  youngest  being  Charles, 
afterwards  Dr.  Burney,  and  a  twin  sister,  Susannah,  who 
were  born  and  baptized  at  Shrewsbury  on  the  12th  of 
/^pril,  1726;  at  which  date  their  father  still  retained  the 
name  of  Macburney.  When  and  why  the  Mac  was 
dropped  we  are  not  informed,  but  by  the  time  Charles 
attained  to  manhood,  the  family  in  all  its  branches — 
uncles  and  cousins,  as  well  as  brothers  and  sisters — had 
concurred  in  adopting  the  more  compact  form  of  Burney. 
The  musical  talents  of  Charles  Burney  showed  them- 
selves at  an  early  age.     In  his  eighteenth  year,  the  pro- 


Early  Life  of  Dr.  Burucy.  3 

ficiency  he  had  acquired  under  his  eldest  half-brother, 
James  Burney,  organist  of  St.  Mary's,  Shrewsbury,  recom- 
mended him  to  the  notice  of  Dr.  Arne,  the  composer  of 
'Rule,  Britannia,'  who  offered  to  take  him  as  a  pupil.  In 
1744,  accordingly,  Charles  was  articled  to  the  most  famous 
English  musician  of  that  day,  and  went  to  live  in  London. 
At  the  house  of  the  no  less  famous  Mrs.  Cibber,*  who  was 
sister  of  Dr.  Arne,  he  had  opportunities  of  mixing  with 
most  of  the  persons  then  distinguished  by  their  writings 
or  their  performances  in  connection  with  the  orchestra 
and  the  stage.  At  the  end  of  his  third  year  with  Arne, 
Burney  acquired  a  still  more  useful  patron.  Among  the 
leaders  of  ton  in  the  middle  of  last  century  was  Fulk 
Greville,  a  descendant  of  the  favourite  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
and  friend  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  To  a  passion  for  field 
sports,  horse-racing,  and  gaming,  this  fine  gentleman 
united  an  equally  strong  taste  for  more  refined  pleasrures, 
and  his  ample  possessions  enabled  him  to  gratify  every 
inclination  to  the  utmost.  Greville  met  Burney  at  the 
shop  of  Kirkman,  the  harpsichord-maker,  and  was  so 
captivated  with  his  playing  and  lively  conversation,  that  he 
paid  Arne  £"300  to  cancel  the  young  man's  articles,  and 
took  him  to  live  with  himself  as  a  sort  of  musical  com- 
panion. The  high-bred  society  to  which  he  was  now 
introduced  prepared  Burney  to  take  rank  in  later  years  as 
the  most  fashionable  professor  of  music,  and  one  of  the 
most  polished  wits  of  his  time.  In  Greville's  town  circle, 
and  at  his  country  seat,  Wilbury  House,  near  Andover, 
his  dependent  constantly  encountered  peers,  statesmen, 
diplomatists,  macaronis,  to  whose  various  humours  this 
son  of  a  provincial  portrait-painter  seems  to  have  adapted 

*  Actress  and  singer  ;  married  Theophilus  Cibber,  son  of  Colley  Cibber. 
She  was  a  special  favourite  with  Hantlel,  who  wrote  mucli  of  his  contralto 
music  lor  her.  In  the  latter  part  of  her  career  she  was  associated  with  Ganick 
at  Drury  Lane.     Born,  1714;  died,  1766. 


4  Esther  Sleepe. 

himself  as  readily  as  if  he  had  been  to  the  manner  born. 
So  firm  a  hold  did  he  gain  on  his  protector,  that  neither 
the  marriage  of  the  latter,  nor  his  own,  appears  in  any 
degree  to  have  weakened  his  favour.  When  Greville 
chose  to  make  a  stolen  match  with  Miss  Frances  Mac- 
artne}'-,*  or,  as  the  lady's  father  expressed  it,  '  to  take  a 
wife  out  of  the  window  whom  he  might  just  as  well  have 
taken  out  of  the  door,'  Burney  was  employed  to  give  the 
bride  away.  When  Burney  himself  became  a  benedict, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greville  cordially  approved  both  the  act  and 
his  choice,  and  Mrs.  Greville  subsequently  stood  as  god- 
mother to  Frances  Burne}-. 

It  was  in  1749  that  Charles  Burney  took  to  wife  the 
lady  before  mentioned,  who,  on  her  mother's  side,  was 
of  French  origin,,  and  grandchild  of  a  Huguenot  refugee 
named  Dubois.  Esther  Sleepe  herself  was  bred  in  the 
City  of  London,  and  her  future  husband  first  saw  her  at 
the  house  of  his  elder  brother,  Richard  Burne}-,  in  Hatton 
Garden.  To  his  fashionable  friends  the  marriage  must 
have  seemed  an  imprudent  one,  for  Miss  Sleepe  had  no 
fortune  to  compensate  for  her  obscure  parentage.  From 
the  '  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Burney,'t  w'e  learn  that  her  father 
was  a  man  of  ill  conduct;  but  Fanny  everywhere  speaks 
with  enthusiasm  of  her  mother's  mother.  Somewhat 
strangely,  this  lady  herself  adhered  to  the  Roman  Catholic 
creed,  though  she  was  the  child  of  a  man  exiled  by  the 
revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  and  though  she  suffered 
her  own  daughter  Esther  to  be  brought  up  in  the  Anglican 
Communion.  In  view  of  the  union  which  Frances  Burncj' 
afterwards  contracted,  it  is  as  well  to  bear  in  mind  that 
one  of  her  parents  was  parti)'  of  French  extraction.     In 

*  This  lady  wrote  verses,  and  acquired  some  repute  by  a  poem  entitled  '  A 
I'rayer  for  Indifference.' 

•|-  'Memoirs  of  Dr.  Buiney,  by  his  Daughter,  Madame  d"Arblay.'  1S32. 


Kings  Lynn.  5 

consequence  of  his  wife's  connections,  Charles  Burney  on 
his  marriage  hired  a  house  in  the  City.  He  was  presently 
elected  organist  of  St.  Dionis  Backchurch,  produced 
several  pieces  of  music,  and  laid  himself  out  to  obtain 
pupils.  These  flocked  to  him  from  all  sides.  The 
Grevilles  had  gone  abroad  shortly  after  he  left  them,  but 
he  could  still  count  on  their  influence,  and  that  of  the 
friends  they  had  procured  him,  while  he  found  new  sup- 
porters daily  among  the  merchants  and  bankers  east  of 
Temple  Bar.  His  wife  bore  him  a  first-born  son,  who 
was  baptized  James,  according  to  the  immemorial  usage 
of  the  Burney  race,  and  then  a  daughter,  who  received 
her  mother's  name  of  Esther.  But  when  all  things  looked 
fair  and  promising,  the  sky  suddenly  became  overcast. 
The  young  father's  health  broke  down  :  a  violent  attack 
of  fever  was  succeeded  by  a  train  of  symptoms  threaten- 
ing consumption  ;  and,  as  a  last  resource,  he  was  ordered 
by  his  medical  adviser,  the  poet-physician  x'Vrmstrong,*  to 
throw  up  his  employments  in  London  and  go  to  live  in 
the  country. 

In  this  emergency,  Burney  was  offered  and  accepted  the 
place  of  organist  at  Lynn,  whither  he  removed  in  1751, 
and  where  he  spent  the  nine  following  years.  His  stipend 
was  fixed  at  £100  a  year,  a  handsome  sum  for  those  days, 
and  he  largely  added  to  it  by  giving  music  lessons  m  the 
town,  and  in  many  of  the  great  houses  of  Norfolk.  The 
qualities  which  had  stood  him  in  good  stead  in  London 
proved  equally  acceptable  to  the  country  gentlemen  of 
East  Anglia.  '  He  scarcely  ever  entered  one  of  their 
houses  upon  terms  of  business  without  leaving  it  on  terms 
of  intimacy.'  His  journeys  to  Houghton,  Holkham, 
Kimberley,  Rainham  and  Felbrig  were  performed  on  the 
back  of  his  mare  Peggy,  who  leisurely  padded  along  the 

'•'  Author  of  a  didactic  poem,  '  The  Art  of  Preserving  Health.' 


6  Poland  Street. 

sandy  cross-roads,  while  the  rider  studied  a  volume  of 
Italian  poetry  with  the  aid  of  a  dictionary  which  he  carried 
in  his  pocket.  As  Burney's  income  grew,  his  family  also 
increased.  After  his  third  child,  Frances,  came  another 
daughter,  Susanna  ;  next  a  second  son,  who  was  called 
Charles,  and  then  a  fourth  daughter,  Charlotte,  The 
keen  breezes  from  the  Wash  helped  to  brace  his  spare 
person,  and  though  constant  riding  about  the  country  in 
winter  was  not  desirable  exercise,  Burney  gradually  recon- 
ciled himself  to  his  provincial  lot,  which  he  enlivened  by 
laying  plans  for  his  '  History  of  Music,'  corresponding  with 
the  Grevilles  and  other  old  friends,  and  commencing  an 
acquaintance  by  letter  with  Dr,  Johnson.  In  1759,  how- 
ever, he  gained  some  general  reputation  b}^  his  musical 
setting  of  an  ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  which  was  performed 
with  much  applause  at  Ranelagh  Gardens  ;  and,  stimulated 
by  the  exhortations  which  reached  him  from  various 
quarters,  he  prepared  to  resume  his  career  in  the  capital. 
Foremost  in  urging  the  step  was  Samuel  Crisp,  whom  he 
had  met  and  taken  for  his  mentor  at  Wilbury  House, 
and  of  whom  we  shall  have  more  to  say  presently.  To 
settle  for  life  among  the  foggy  aldermen  of  Lynn,  wrote 
Crisp,  would  be  to  plant  his  youth,  genius,  hopes  and 
fortune  against  a  north  wall.  Burney  took  the  warning, 
and  in  1760,  having  sufficiently  recruited  his  constitution, 
he  returned  to  London  with  his  wife  and  family. 

He  established  himself  in  Poland  Street,  which,  from 
having  been  in  high  fashion,  was  then  lapsing  by  degrees 
to  the  professional  and  the  less  wealthy  mercantile  classes, 
though  it  still  boasted  among  its  inhabitants  the  Duke  of 
Chandos,  besides  several  lesser  personages  whose  names 
were  written  in  the  peerage.  This  was  the  ver}-  situation 
for  an  ambitious  music-master  of  slender  means  but  good 
connections.     In  a  very  short  time,  we  are  told,  Burney 


Fanny  s  Brothers  and  Sisters.  7 

'  had  hardly  an  hour  that  was  not  appropriated  to  some 
fair  disciple.'  He  began  his  round  of  lessons  as  early  as 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  sometimes  did  not 
finish  it  till  eleven  at  night.  He  often  dined  in  a  hackney 
coach  on  the  contents  of  a  sandwich-box  and  a  flask  of 
sherry  and  water,  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket.  The 
care  of  his  six  little  ones  of  necessity  devolved  wholly  on 
their  mother,  who  was  well  worthy  of  the  charge.  In 
talents  and  accomplishments  Mrs.  Burney  appears  to 
have  been  at  least  the  equal  of  her  husband.  While  she 
lived,  a  certain  touch  of  Huguenot  decision  in  her  added 
strength  to  his  less  strenuous  nature  ;  and  her  French 
blood  undoubtedly  contributed  its  full  share  to  the  quick 
and  lively  parts  that  in  different  degrees  distinguished 
their  children.  These,  as  they  grew  out  of  infancy,  com- 
posed a  group  which,  on  every  view  that  we  get  of  it, 
presents  an  extremely  pleasant  picture.  In  most  cases, 
their  minds  blossomed  at  an  early  period.  The  eldest 
daughter,  Esther,  inherited  her  father's  musical  genius  ; 
when  only  eight  years  of  age  she  performed  with  sur- 
prising skill  on  the  harpsichord.  James,  the  eldest  son, 
appears  to  have  been  a  lad  of  spirit  and  vivacity.  Begin- 
ning as  '  a  nominal  midshipman  '  at  the  age  of  ten,  he 
chose  the  navy  for  his  profession,  sailed  twice  round  the 
world  with  Captain  Cook,  rose  to  the  rank  of  rear-admiral, 
and  lived  to  have  his  '  flashes  of  wild  wit  '  celebrated  by 
Charles  Lamb  in  one  of  the  essays  of  '  Elia.'  Susanna,  the 
favourite  and  special  friend  of  our  Fanny,  has  left  letters 
worthy  of  being  printed  on  the  same  page  with  those  of 
her  famous  sister,  and  her  power  of  writing  showed  itself 
sooner  than  did  Fanny's.  Finally,  Charles,*  the  second 
son,  though  for  some  reason  he  quitted  Cambridge  with- 

*  Born   at    Lynn,    December   4,    1756;    LL.D.   Aberdeen,    1792;  vicar  of 
Deptfoid,  prebendary  of  Lincohi,  chaplain  to  the  King  ;  died  1817. 


8  Fanny's  Backwardness  in  Childhood. 

out  taking  a  degree,  made  his  mark  in  Greek  criticism 
before  completing  his  twenty-fifth  year ;  in  that  depart- 
ment of  study,  so  speedy  a  harvest  affords  sufficient  proof 
of  a  forward  spring.  The  fame  of  the  younger  Dr. 
Charles  Burney  is  now  somewhat  faded  :  in  his  prime,  he 
was  classed  with  Porson  and  Parr  as  one  of  the  three 
chief  representatives  of  English  scholarship ;  and  on  his 
death  his  library  was  purchased  by  the  nation  and  placed 
in  the  British  Museum. 

The  one  marked  exception  to  the  rule  of  early  develop- 
ment in  the  Burney  family  was  noted  in  the  case  of  the 
daughter  who  was  destined  to  be  its  principal  ornament. 
We  are  told  that  the  most  remarkable  features  of  Frances 
Burney's  childhood  were  her  extreme  shyness  and  her 
backwardness  at  learning.  At  eight  years  of  age,  she  did 
not  even  know  her  letters  ;  and  her  elder  brother,  who 
had  a  sailor's  love  of  practical  jokes,  used  to  pretend  to 
teach  her  to  read,  and  give  her  the  book  upside  down, 
which,  he  said,  she  never  found  out.  An  officious  ac- 
quaintance of  her  mother  suggested  that  the  application 
of  the  little  dunce  might  be  quickened  by  the  rod,  but  the 
wiser  parent  replied  that  'she  had  no  fear  about  Fanny,' 
Mrs.  Burney,  it  is  clear,  favoured  no  forcing  methods  in 
education.  She  was  laid  aside  by  illness  shortly  after  the 
family's  return  to  London,  and,  so  long  as  her  health 
lasted,  seems  to  have  given  regular  teaching  to  the  eldest 
of  her  daughters  only,  whose  taste  for  reading  she  very 
early  began  to  form.  "  I  perfectly  recollect,"  wrote  Fanny 
to  Esther  many  years  later,  "  child  as  I  was,  and  never 
of  the  party,  this  part  of  )'our  education.  At  that  very 
juvenile  period,  the  difference  even  of  months  makes  a 
marked  distinction  in  bestowing  and  receiving  instruction. 
I,  also,  was  so  peculiarly  backward  that  even  our  Susan 
stood  before   me ;  she  could  read  when  I   knew  not   my 


David  Garrick.  9 

letters.  But,  though  so  sluggish  to  learn,  I  was  always 
observant.  Do  you  remember  Mr.  Seaton  denominating 
me  at  fifteen,  the  silent,  observant  Miss  Fanny  ?  Well  I 
recollect  your  reading  with  our  dear  mother  all  Pope's 
works  and  Pitt's  '  JEneid.'  I  recollect,  also,  your  spout- 
ing passages  from  Pope,  that  I  learned  from  hearing  you 
recite  them,  before — many  years  before — I  read  them 
myself." 

Mrs.  Burney  died  at  the  end  of  September,  1761.  To- 
wards the  close  of  her  illness,  Fanny  and  Susan,  with 
their  brother  Charles,  had  been  sent  to  board  with  a 
Mrs.  Sheeles,  who  kept  a  school  in  Queen  Square,  that 
they  might  be  out  of  the  way  ;  and  this  experienced  judge 
of  children  was  greatly  struck  by  the  intensity  of  Fanny's 
grief  at  a  loss  which  girls  of  nine  are  apt  to  realize  very 
imperfectly. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that  Fanny'sbackwardness  and  ap- 
parent dulness  were  simply  due  to  the  numbing  influence  of 
nervousness  and  extreme  diffidence.  Her  father,  the  less 
indulgent  to  shyness  in  others  because  he  had  experienced 
it  in  himself,  for  a  long  time  did  her  very  imperfect 
justice.  Looking  back  in  later  years,  he  could  remember 
that  her  talent  for  observing  and  representing  points  of 
character,  her  lively  invention,  even  her  turn  for  composi- 
tion, had  shown  themselves  before  she  had  learnt  to  spell 
her  way  through  the  pages  of  a  fairy  tale.  A  magician 
more  potent  than  any  books  helped  to  call  forth  the 
germs  of  her  latent  powers.  Among  the  friends  most  in- 
timate in  Poland  Street  during  the  months  following  Mrs. 
Burney's  death  were  David  Garrick  and  his  engaging  wife. 
La  Violetta.  While  exerting  themselves  to  console  the 
widower,  this  brilliant  and  kindly  couple  did  not  neglect 
his  motherless  famil}'.  '  Garrick,  who  was  passionately 
fond  of  children,  never  withheld  his  visits  on  account  of 


lo  The  Old  Lady. 

the  absence  of  the  master  of  the  house.'  If  Mr.  Burney 
was  not  at  home,  the  great  actor,  keenly  alive  to  his  own 
gift  of  bestowing  pleasure,  would  devote  himself  to  enter- 
taining the  little  ones.  The  rapture  with  which  his  entrance 
was  greeted  by  that  small  audience  charmed  him  as  much 
as  the  familiar  applause  of  Drury  Lane.  The  prince  of 
comedians  and  mimics  was  content  to  lavish  all  the  re- 
sources of  his  art  on  a  handful  of  girls  and  bo3'S.  When 
he  left  them,  they  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  recalling  the 
salhes  of  his  humour,  and  the  irresistible  gestures  which 
had  set  them  off.  So  Fanny  tells  us,  the  least  noticed, 
probably,  yet  the  most  attentive  and  observant  member 
of  the  whole  group.  On  many  a  happy  night,  the  elder 
ones,  in  charge  of  some  suitable  guardian,  were  permitted 
to  occupy  Mrs.  Garrick's  private  box  at  the  theatre. 
There  they  beheld  '  the  incomparable  Roscius  '  take  the 
stage,  and  followed  him  with  eyes  of  such  eager  admira- 
tion, that  it  seemed — so  their  amused  father  told  his 
friend — 

'They  did,  as  was  their  duty, 
Worship  the  shadow  of  his  shoe-tie  !' 

Burney  relates  of  Fanny  that  '  she  used,  after  having  seen 
a  play  in  Mrs.  Garrick's  box,  to  take  the  actors  off,  and 
compose  speeches  for  their  characters,  for  she  could  not 
read  them.'  But,  he  continues,  in  company  or  before 
strangers,  she  was  silent,  backward,  and  timid,  even  to 
sheepishness ;  and,  from  her  shyness,  had  such  profound 
gravit)'  and  composure  of  features,  that  those  of  Dr. 
Burney's  friends  who  went  often  to  his  home,  and  en- 
tered into  the  different  humours  of  the  children,  never 
called  Fanny  by  any  other  name,  from  the  time  she  had 
reached  her  eleventh  }ear,  than  '  the  old  lady.' 

Yet  the  shyest  children  will  now  and  then   forget  their 
shyness.     This  seems  to  be  the   moral   of  a  story  which 


The   Wig-Maker.  1 1 

the  worthy  doctor  goes  on  to  tell  in  his  rather  prolix  and 
pompous  style.  "  There  lived  next  door  to  me,  at  that 
time,  in  Poland  Street,  and  in  a  private  house,  a  capital 
hair-merchant,  who  furnished  perukes  to  the  judges  and 
gentlemen  of  the  law.  The  hair-merchant's  female  chil- 
dren and  mine  used  to  play  together  in  the  little  garden 
behind  the  house  ;  and,  unfortunately,  one  day,  the  door 
of  the  wig-magazine  being  left  open,  they  each  of  them 
put  on  one  of  those  dignified  ornaments  of  the  head,  and 
danced  and  jumped  about  in  a  thousand  antics,  laughing 
till  they  screamed  at  their  own  ridiculous  figures.  Un- 
fortunately, in  their  vagaries,  one  of  the  flaxen  wigs,  said 
by  the  proprietor  to  be  worth  upwards  of  ten  guineas — in 
those  days  an  enormous  price — fell  into  a  tub  of  water, 
placed  for  shrubs  in  the  little  garden,  and  lost  all  its 
gorgon  buckle,*  and  was  declared  by  the  owner  to  be 
totally  spoilt.  He  was  extremely  angry,  and  chid  verj- 
severely  his  own  children,  when  my  little  daughter,  '  the 
old  lady,'  then  ten  years  of  age,  advancing  to  him,  as  I 
was  informed,  with  great  gravity  and  composure,  sedately 
said,  '  What  signifies  talking  so  much  about  an  accident  ? 
The  wig  is  wet,  to  be  sure  ;  and  the  wig  was  a  good  wig, 
to  be  sure  :  but  'tis  of  no  use  to  speak  of  it  any  more, 
because  whafs  done  can't  be  undone.'  " 

Meanwhile,  little  was  done  on  any  regular  plan  for 
Fanny's  education.  She  had  not  been  suffered  to  remain 
at  the  school  in  which  she  was  temporarily  placed  during 
her  mother's  last  illness,  nor  was  she  sent  to  any  other. 
When,  after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three  years,  Burney  found 
himself  in  a  position  to  put  two  of  his  girls  to  school  at 


*  The  writer  seems  to  have  had  in  view  the  lines  of  Pope  : 

'  That  live-lon;j  wig,  which  Gorgon's  self  might  own, 
Eternal  buckle  takes  in  Parian  stone.' 

By  the  buckle  of  a  wig  was  meant  its  stiff  curl  when  in  trim  condition. 


1 2  Neglect  of  Fanny  s  Education. 

Paris,  he  selected  the  third,  Susanna,  rather  than  Fanny, 
to  accompany  the  eldest  sister,  proposing  to  send  Fanny 
and  Charlotte  together  at  a  future  time.  Two  reasons 
were  assigned  for  this  arrangement.  One  was  the  notion 
that  Susanna,  who  inherited  her  father's  consumptive 
habit,  required  change  of  climate  more  than  the  second 
daughter.  The  other  was  a  fear  lest  Fanny's  deep  rever- 
ence for  her  Roman  Catholic  grandmother  might  incline 
her  to  adopt  the  same  form  of  faith,  and  thus  render  her 
perversion  easy,  if,  when  so  young,  she  fell  within  the 
influence  of  some  enterprising  French  chaplain.  We  can- 
not help  suspecting,  however,  that  the  true  cause  of  Fanny 
being  passed  over  on  this  occasion  was  an  impression 
that  Susanna  was  a  girl  of  brighter  parts,  and  better 
fitted  to  benefit  by  the  teaching  of  a  Paris  ^e;mo«. 

From  whatever  motive,  Fanny  was  left  behind,  nor  was 
any  instructor  provided  for  her  at  home.  The  widower 
disliked  the  idea  of  introducing  a  governess  into  his 
house,  though  he  had  no  time  to  spare  even  for  directing 
his  daughter's  studies.  She  was  thus  entirely  self- 
educated,  and  had  no  other  spur  to  exertion  than  her 
unbounded  affection  for  her  father,  who  excused  himself 
for  his  neglect  of  her  training  by  the  reflection  that  '  she 
had  a  natural  simplicity  and  probityabout  herwhich  wanted 
no  teaching.'  In  her  eleventh  year  she  had  learned  to 
read,  and  began  to  scribble  little  poems  and  works  of 
invention,  though  in  a  character  that  was  illegible  to 
everyone  but  herself.  '  Her  love  of  reading,'  we  are  told, 
'  did  not  display  itself  till  two  or  three  years  later.'  Her 
father  had  a  good  library,  over  which  she  was  allowed  to 
range  at  will  ;  and  in  course  of  time  she  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  fair  portion  of  its  lighter  contents.  The 
solitary  child  kept  a  careful  account  of  the  authors  she 
studied,  making  extracts  from  them,  and  adding  remarks 


Her  Taste  for  Scribbling.  1 3 

which,  we  are  assured,  showed  that  her  mind  was  riper 
than  her  knowledge.  Yet  she  never  developed  any  strong 
or  decided  taste  for  literature.  She  never  became  even  a 
devourer  of  books.  Indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
she  did  not  always  derive  more  pleasure  from  her  ov/n 
compositions  than  from  those  of  the  greatest  writers. 
Plying  her  pen  without  an  effort,  the  leisure  which  most 
intellectual  persons  give  to  reading,  Fanny  devoted  in 
great  part  to  producing  manuscripts  of  her  own.  Childish 
epics,  dramas,  and  romances,  were  not  the  only  ventures 
of  her  youth  :  she  began  keeping  a  diary  at  the  age  of 
fifteen,  and,  in  addition  to  her  published  novels  and  sundry 
plays  which  have  perished,  journals,  memoirs,  and  letters, 
of  which  a  small  proportion  only  have  seen  the  light,  occu- 
pied most  of  the  vacant  hours  in  her  active  womanhood. 

During  this  period  of  self-education,  the  person  from 
whom  Fanny  received  most  notice  and  attention  appears 
to  have  been  her  father's  old  friend,  Samuel  Crisp.  This 
gentleman  had  gone  abroad  while  the  Burneys  were  in 
Norfolk,  and  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  Rome,  where  he 
passed  several  years,  improving  his  taste  in  music,  paint- 
ing, and  sculpture,  and  forgetting  for  a  while  the  young 
English  professor  who  had  interested  him  under  Greville's 
roof.  Having  at  length  returned  to  England,  he,  some 
time  after  Mrs.  Burney's  death,  met  Burney  by  accident 
at  the  house  of  a  common  acquaintance.  The  casual 
encounter  immediately  revived  the  old  intimacy.  Crisp  at 
once  found  his  way  to  the  house  in  Poland  Street,  and, 
like  Garrick,  was  attracted  by  the  group  of  children 
there.  As  the  two  eldest  of  these  and  the  lively  Susanna 
were  soon  afterwards  removed  to  a  distance,  the  chief 
share  in  his  regard  naturally  fell  to  the  lot  of  Fanny. 
Hence,  while  all  the  children  came  to  look  upon  him  with 
a  sort  of  filial  feeling,  he  was  in  a  special  manner  appro- 


14  Samuel  Crisp. 

priated  by  Fanny  as  '  her  dearest  daddy.'  And  there 
were  points  in  Crisp's  temperament  which  harmonized  well 
with  the  girl's  shy  yet  aspiring  character.  Both,  in  their 
turn,  set  their  hearts  on  the  attainment  of  literary  renown  ; 
both  had  the  same  tendency  to  shrink  into  themselves. 
Success  changed  Fanny  from  a  silent  domestic  drudge 
into  a  social  celebrity ;  failure  helped  to  change  Crisp 
from  a  shining  man  of  fashion  into  a  moody  recluse. 

The  story  of  this  strange  man  has  been  sketched  by 
Macaulay,  but  it  has  so  close  a  bearing  on  our  heroine's 
life,  that  we  cannot  avoid  shortly  retracing  it  here.  A 
handsome  person,  dignified  manners,  excellent  talents, 
and  an  accomplished  taste  procured  for  Crisp,  in  his  prime, 
acceptance  and  favour,  not  only  with  Fulk  Greville  and 
his  set,  but  also  with  a  large  number  of  other  persons 
distinguished  in  the  great  world.  Thus,  he  was  admitted 
to  the  acquaintance  of  the  highly  descended  and  wealthy 
Margaret  Cavendish  Harley,  then  Duchess  Dowager  of 
Portland,  whom  we  mention  here  because  through  her 
Crisp  became  known  to  Mrs.  Delany,  by  whom  Fanny 
was  afterwards  introduced  to  the  Royal  Family.  Another 
of  his  friends  was  Mrs.  Montagu,  who  then,  as  he  used  to 
say,  was  '  peering  at  fame,'  and  gradually  rising  to  the 
rank  of  a  lady  patroness  of  letters.  And  among  the  most 
intimate  of  his  associates  was  the  Earl  of  Coventr}',  at  the 
time  when  that  '  grave  young  lord,'  as  Walpole  calls  him, 
after  long  dangling,married  the  most  beautiful  of  the  beauti- 
ful Gunnings.  Now,  about  the  date  when  our  Fanny  first 
saw  the  light,  it  was  buzzed  abroad  in  the  coterie  of  Crisp's 
admirers  that  their  hero  had  finished  a  tragedy  on  the 
story  of  Virginia.  A  lively  expectation  was  at  once 
awakened.  But  Garrick,  though  a  personal  friend  of  the 
author,  hesitated  and  delayed  to  gratify  the  public  with 
the  rich  feast  which  was  believed  to  be  in  store  for  it. 


His   Tragedy  and  its  Failure.  15 

The  utmost  efforts  were  employed  to  overcome  his  reluc- 
tance. The  great  Mr.  Pitt  was  prevailed  on  to  read  the 
play,  and  to  pronounce  in  its  favour.  Lord  Coventry 
exerted  all  his  influence  with  the  coy  manager.  Yet  not 
until  Lady  Coventry  herself  had  joined  her  solicitations 
to  those  of  her  husband  was  'Virginia'  put  in  rehearsal  at 
Drury  Lane.  The  piece  was  produced  in  February,  1754, 
and  ran  several  nights,  buoyed  up  by  the  acting  and 
popularity  of  Garrick,  who  contributed  a  remarkably  good 
epilogue.*  But  no  patronage  or  support  could  keep  alive 
a  drama  which,  in  truth,  had  neither  poetical  merit  nor 
the  qualities  of  a  good  acting  play  to  recommend  it. 
'  Virginia  '  was  very  soon  withdrawn,  and,  as  usual,  the 
writer,  while  cruelly  mortified  by  his  failure,  attributed  it 
to  every  cause  but  the  right  one.  Lord  Coventry  advised 
alterations,  which  Crisp  hastened  to  execute,  but  Garrick, 
though  civil,  was  determined  that  so  ineffective  a  muse 
should  not  again  cumber  his  stage.  His  firmness,  of 
course,  cost  him  the  friendship  of  the  ungrateful  Crisp, 
who,  conscious  of  considerable  powers,  and  unable  to 
perceive  that  he  had  mistaken  their  proper  application, 
inveighed  with  equal  bitterness  against  manager,  per- 
formers, and  the  public,  and  in  sore  dudgeon  betook 
himself  across  the  sea  to  Italy.  Macaulay,  indeed,  will 
have  it  that  his  disappointment  ruined  his  temper  and 
spirits,  and  turned  him  into  '  a  cynic,  and  a  hater  of  man- 
kind.' But  in  this,  as  in  too  many  of  the  essayist's 
trenchant  statements,  something  of  accuracy  is  sacrificed 
for  the  sake  of  effect.  Crisp  appears  to  have  enjoyed 
himself  not  a  little  in  Italy,  and  on  his  return,  though  he 
did  not  again  settle  in  London,  he  fixed  his  first  abode  as 
near  to  it  as  the  courtly  village  of  Hampton,  where  he 
furnished  a  small  house,  filling  it  with  pictures,  statuary, 

*  Walpole  to  Bentley,  March  6,  1754. 


1 6  Ckesington. 

and  musical  instruments,  as  became  a  man  of  taste. 
Far  from  shunning  society  in  this  luxurious  retreat,  he 
entertained  so  many  guests  there  that  his  hospitality  in  a 
short  time  made  a  serious  inroad  on  his  small  fortune. 
Chagrin  at  his  imprudence  brought  on  a  severe  attack  of 
gout ;  and  then  it  was  that,  broken  alike  in  health  and 
finances,  he  resolved  on  secluding  himself  from  the  world. 
Having  sold  his  villa  and  its  contents,  he  removed  a  few 
miles  off  to  a  solitary  mansion  belonging  to  an  old  friend, 
Christopher  Hamilton,  who,  like  himself,  had  lost  the 
battle  of  life,  and  desired  to  be  considered  as  dead  to 
mankind. 

Chesington  Hall,  which  thenceforth  became  the  joint 
residence  of  this  pair  of  hermits,  stood  on  an  eminence 
rising  from  a  wide  and  nearly  desolate  common,  about 
midway  between  the  towns  of  Epsom  and  Kingston ;  the 
neglected  buildings  were  crumbling  to  pieces  from  age, 
having  been  begun  in  the  same  year  in  which  Wolsey  laid 
the  first  stone  of  Hampton  Court ;  and  the  homestead 
was  surrounded  by  fields,  that  for  a  long  period  had 
been  so  ploughed  up  as  to  leave  no  road  or  even  regular 
footpath  open  across  them.  In  this  hiding-place  Crisp 
fixed  his  abode  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  So  isolated  was 
the  spot  that  strangers  could  not  reach  it  without  a  guide. 
But  the  inhabitants  desired  to  have  as  few  visitors  as 
possible.  Only  as  the  spring  of  each  year  came  round 
would  Crisp,  while  his  strength  allowed,  quit  his  refuge 
for  a  few  weeks,  to  amuse  himself  with  the  picture-shows 
and  concerts  of  the  London  season. 

It  seems  to  have  been  during  one  of  these  excursions 
that  Burney  met  Crisp  again  after  their  long  separation. 
The  revival  of  their  friendship  gave  the  solitary  man  one 
more  connecting  link  with  the  outside  world.  Down  to  that 
time  Crisp's  only  visitor  in  his  retreat  seems  to  have  been 


The  Family  Adviser.  17 

his  sister,  Mrs.  Sophia  Gast,  of  Burford,  in  Oxfordshire. 
Now  to  Burney  also  was  entrusted  the  clue  for  a  safe 
route  across  the  wild  common  to  Chesington  Hall,  while 
from  all  others,  including  Mr.  Greville,  it  was  still  stead- 
fastly withheld.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
acquaintances  whom  Crisp  thus  relinquished  were  more 
faithless  than  a  poor  man's  great  friends  usually  are.  He 
had  been  flattered  with  hopes  of  obtaining  some  public 
appointment  through  their  interest ;  but  his  health  had 
failed  before  the  value  of  the  promises  made  to  him  could 
be  fairly  tested.  When  restored  strength  might  have 
rendered  seclusion  irksome,  and  employment  acceptable, 
his  pride  rebelled  against  further  solicitation,  and  fixed 
him  in  the  solitude  where  his  poverty  and  lack  of  energy 
alike  escaped  reproach.  Charles  Burney  alone,  from  whom 
he  had  nothing  to  expect,  and  who  had  always  looked  up 
to  him,  was  admitted  where  others  were  excluded. 

The  modern  village  of  Chesington  lies  about  two  miles 
to  the  north-west  of  the  railway-station  at  Ewell.  Some 
patches  of  heathy  common  still  remain.  Though  not  so 
solitary  a  place  as  in  the  days  of  which  we  write,  Chesing- 
ton has  still  a  lonely  look.* 

Crisp,  in  his  sanctuary,  and  his  occasional  secret  journeys 
to  London,  resumed  his  office  of  mentor  to  Burney,  and 
became  also  the  confidential  adviser  of  Burney's  daughters. 
For  such  trust  he  was  eminently  qualified ;  since,  to  borrow 
the  words  of  Macaulay,  though  he  was  a  bad  poet,  he  was 
a  scholar,  a  thinker,  and  an  excellent  counsellor.  He  sur- 
passed his  younger  friend,  Charles,  in  general  knowledge 
and  force  of  mind,  as  much  as  he  was  surpassed  by  Charles 
in  social  tact  and  pliability  of  temper.     And  Burney  was 

*  Thome's  •  Environs  of  London.'  The  name  is  now  written  Chessington, 
but  we  retain  the  spelling  which  was  always  used  by  Fanny  Barney  and  her 
friends. 


1 8  Burneys  Amiable   Te?)iper. 

far  from  resenting  or  grudging  the  influence  which  Crisp 
acquired  in  his  family ;  for  Burney  was  a  sweet-natured 
as  well  as  a  sensible  man.  No  pitiful  vanity  or  treacherous 
jealousy  lay  hid  under  his  genial  and  gracious  exterior. 
Conscious,  apparently,  that  both  from  too  great  easiness 
of  disposition,  and  from  his  manifold  engagements,  he  was 
ill-fitted  to  discharge  all  the  duties  devolving  on  him  as 
sole  surviving  parent,  he  cordially  welcomed  the  assistance 
of  his  old  and  valued  friend.  Mrs.  Thrale  afterwards 
complained  that  Dr.  Burney  liked  to  keep  his  hold  on 
his  children  ;  but  the  engrossing  lady  patroness  seems  to 
have  meant  only  that  he  objected,  as  well  he  might,  to 
have  Fanny  disposed  of  for  months  or  years  at  a  time 
without  regard  to  his  wishes  or  convenience.  He  was 
never  disturbed  by  unworthy  alarms  lest  some  interloping 
well-wisher  should  steal  away  the  hearts  of  his  children 
from  himself.  He  stooped  to  no  paltry  manoeuvres  to 
prevent  them  from  becoming  too  much  attached  to  this  or 
that  friend.  He  certainly  did  not  interfere  to  check  the 
warmth  of  his  daughters'  regard  for  the  rugged  old  cynic 
of  Chesington,  nor  put  any  restraint  on  the  correspond- 
ence which  grew  up  between  Fanny  and  her  '  dearest 
daddy.'  And  he  reaped  the  full  reward  of  his  unselfish- 
ness, or,  we  should  rather  say,  of  his  straightforward 
good  sense.  No  son  or  daughter  was  ever  estranged 
from  him  by  the  feeling  that  his  jealousy  had  robbed 
them  of  a  useful  connection  or  appreciative  ally.  Fann}"s 
fondness  for  her  adopted  father,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, did  not  in  the  least  diminish  her  love  for  her 
natural  parent.  *  She  had  always  a  great  affection  for 
me,'  wrote  Dr.  Burney  at  the  close  of  his  life.  The  latter 
was,  indeed,  the  standard  by  which  she  generally  tried  the 
claims  of  any  other  person  to  be  considered  admirable  or 
charming.      In  her  twenty-sixth  year  she  expressed  her 


Chesingtoii  Hall.  19 

enthusiasm  for  her  newly-made  friend,  Mrs.  Thrale,  by 
saying :  '  I  never  before  saw  a  person  who  so  strongly 
resembles  my  dear  father.'  At  forty-one,  she  described 
her  husband  as  being  '  so  very  like  my  beloved  father  in 
disposition,  humour,  and  taste,  that  the  day  never  passes 
in  which  I  do  not  exclaim  :  "  How  you  remind  me  of  my 
father  !'  " 

Crisp  himself,  at  the  time  when  Fanny  made  his  ac- 
quaintance, had  no  pretension  to  gentle  manners  or  a 
graceful  address ;  but,  like  many  other  disappointed  men 
who  assume  the  character  of  misanthropes,  he  possessed 
at  bottom  a  warm,  and  even  tender,  heart,  and  was  par- 
ticularly fond  of  young  persons.  In  his  intimate  inter- 
course with  the  Burney  family,  all  ceremony  was  dis- 
carded ;  towards  the  junior  members  he  adopted  a  plain, 
rough  style  of  speech,  which,  being  unmistakably  playful, 
left  them  alwa3's  quite  at  home  with  him.  Ver}-  soon  the 
death  of  Crisp's  companion  in  retirement  rendered  the 
society  of  the  Burnejs  more  indispensable  to  the  survivor, 
while  it  placed  him  in  a  better  position  for  receiving 
these  visits.  The  male  line  of  the  Hamiltons  ended  in 
Christopher,  and  his  dilapidated  estate  descended  to  a 
maiden  sister,  Mrs.  Sarah  Hamilton.  Rather  than  sell  the 
property,  this  ancient  lady,  under  Crisp's  advice,  divided 
the  capacious  old  Hall  between  herself  and  Farmer  Wood- 
hatch,  who  rented  and  cultivated  what  remained  of  the 
lands.  To  assist  her  in  keeping  up  the  residence  she  still 
retained,  Mrs.  Hamilton  called  in  as  '  lad}'  help '  a  rustic 
niece,  named  Kitty  Cooke,  and  Crisp  became  her  lodger, 
securing  to  his  own  use  '  a  favourite  apartment,  with  a 
hght  and  pleasant  closet  at  the  end  of  a  long  corridor.' 
In  this  closet  a  great  part  of  Burney's  '  History  of  Music ' 
was  written.  There  was  a  larger  scheme,  also,  at  this 
time,  for  turning  the  whole  suite  of  rooms  into  a  boarding 

2 — 2 


20  A   Quaint  Interior. 

establishment,  but  applicants  for  accommodation  in  so 
remote  and  obscure  an  abode  were  likely  to  be  few  in 
number.  Mrs.  Gast,  however,  came  thither  from  time  to 
time,  and  Frances  Burney  and  her  sisters  were  often  there. 
We  shall  see,  in  due  course,  how  the  animated  scenes  of 
the  famous  novel,  '  Cecilia,'  or  most  of  them,  were  elabo- 
rated within  those  mouldering  walls.  To  the  end  of  her  life 
the  author's  thoughts  wandered  back  with  delight  to  the 
quaint  old  place.  Her  memory  let  nothing  slip :  "  not  a 
nook  or  corner;  nor  a  dark  passage  'leading  to  nothing'; 
nor  a  hanging  tapestry  of  prim  demoiselles  and  grim 
cavaliers ;  nor  a  tall  canopied  bed  tied  up  to  the  ceihng ; 
nor  japan  cabinets  of  two  or  three  hundred  drawers  of 
different  dimensions  ;  nor  an  oaken  corner- cupboard, 
carved  with  heads,  thrown  in  every  direction,  save  such 
as  might  let  them  fall  on  men's  shoulders ;  nor  a  window 
stuck  in  some  angle  close  to  the  ceiling  of  a  lofty  slip 
of  a  room  ;  nor  a  quarter  of  a  staircase,  leading  to  some 
quaint  unfrequented  apartment ;  nor  a  wooden  chimney- 
piece,  cut  in  diamonds,  squares,  and  round  knobs,  sur- 
mounting another  of  blue  and  white  tiles,  representing, 
vis-a-vis,  a  dog  and  a  cat,  as  symbols  of  married  life  and 
harmony."* 

The  time  arrived  when,  in  accordance  with  their  father's 
original  design,  Frances  and  Charlotte  Burney  should 
have  been  placed  at  school  in  Paris  in  succession  to 
Esther  and  Susanna.  Burney  presently  made  another 
journey  to  the  French  capital  to  bring  back  the  pair  of 
sisters  who  had  completed  the  term  of  two  years  assigned 
for  their  education  there,  but  he  was  not  accompanied  by 
either  of  his  other  daughters.  He  was  not  deterred  from 
taking  them  by  any  misgiving  as  to  the  results  of  his  first 
experiment,  which,  we  are   assured,  had  fully  answered 

*  '  Memoirs  of  Dr.  IJvuney,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  185. 


Burneys  Second  Marriage.  21 

his  expectations,  but  rather  by  some  uncertainty  of  means 
and  plans,  connected,  perhaps,  in  part  with  his  approaching 
second  marriage.  Some  hnes  from  the  pen  of  Susanna 
have  been  preserved,  which  are  said  to  have  been  written 
shortly  after  her  return,  and  which,  if  the  date  ascribed 
to  them  be  correct,  would  show  that  the  writer,  who  was 
then  barely  fourteen,  was  a  remarkably  forward  girl  of 
her  age.  As  this  short  composition  sketches  in  contrast 
Susanna's  two  elder  sisters,  we  give  it  entire  : 

"  Hetty  seems  a  good  deal  more  lively  than  she  used  to 
appear  at  Paris  ;  whether  it  is  that  her  spirits  are  better, 
or  that  the  great  liveliness  of  the  inhabitants  made  her 
appear  grave  there  by  comparison,  I  know  not :  but  she 
was  there  remarkable  for  being  serieuse,  and  is  here  for 
being  gay  and  lively.  She  is  a  most  sweet  girl.  My 
sister  Fanny  is  unlike  her  in  almost  everything,  yet  both 
are  very  amiable,  and  love  each  other  as  sincerely  as  ever 
sisters  did.  The  characteristics  of  Hetty  seem  to  be  wit, 
generosity  and  openness  of  heart :  Fanny's — sense,  sensi- 
bility, and  bashfulness,  and  even  a  degree  of  prudery. 
Her  understanding  is  superior,  but  her  diffidence  gives 
her  a  bashfulness  before  company  with  whom  she  is  not 
intimate,  which  is  a  disadvantage  to  her.  My  eldest  sister 
shines  in  conversation,  because,  though  very  modest,  she 
is  totally  free  from  Ruy  maitvaisc  hontc:  were  Fanny  equally 
so,  I  am  persuaded  she  would  shine  no  less.  I  am  afraid 
that  my  eldest  sister  is  too  communicative,  and  that  my 
sister  Fanny  is  too  reserved.  They  are  both  charming 
girls — des  filles  comme  il  y  en  a  peu." 

Burney's  second  marriage  took  place  not  long  after  the 
return  of  Esther  and  Susanna  from  Paris.  His  choice  on 
this  occasion  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  first  Mrs. 
Burney,  whom  she  succeeded  after  an  interval  of  six  years. 
This  lady  was  the  widow  of  Mr.  Stephen  Allen,  a  merchant 


22  Change  of  Plans. 

of  Lynn,  and  by  him  the  parent  of  several  children.  The 
young  Aliens  had  been  playmates  of  the  young  Burneys. 
If  not  equal  in  mind  or  person  to  the  adored  Esther 
Sleepe,  Mrs.  Allen  was  a  handsome  and  well-instructed 
woman,  and  proved  an  excellent  stepmother  to  Fanny 
and  her  sisters,  as  well  as  an  admirable  wife  to  their 
father.  For  some  reason  or  other,  the  nature  of  which 
does  not  very  clearly  appear,  it  was  judged  desirable  that 
not  only  the  engagement  between  the  widow  and  widower 
should  be  kept  secret,  but  that  their  wedding  should  be 
celebrated  in  private.  They  were  married  some  time  in 
the  spring  of  1768,  at  St.  James's,  Piccadilly,  by  the  curate, 
an  old  acquaintance  of  the  bridegroom,  their  intention 
being  confided  to  three  other  friends  only.  Crisp,  who 
was  one  of  these,  had  clearly  no  mind  that  Burney's  new 
connection  should  put  an  end  to  their  alliance,  or  deprive 
himself  of  the  relief  which  the  visits  of  the  widower  and 
his  children  had  afforded  to  the  monotony  of  his  retire- 
ment. The  freshl}^  married  couple  carried  their  secret 
and  their  happiness  'to  the  obscure  skirts  of  the  then 
pathless,  and  nearly  uninhabited  Chesington  Common, 
\\  here  Mr.  Crisp  had  engaged  for  them  a  rural  and  fragrant 
retreat,  at  a  small  farm-house  in  a  little  hamlet  a  mile  or 
two  from  Chesington  Hall.' 

The  secret,  we  are  further  told,  as  usual  in  matrimonial 
concealments,  was  faithfully  preserved  for  a  time  by  care- 
ful vigilance,  and  then  escaped  through  accident.  Be- 
trayed by  the  loss  of  a  letter,  Mrs.  Burney  came  openly  to 
town  to  be  introduced  to  her  husband's  circle,  and 
presently  took  her  place  at  the  head  of  his  household  in 
Poland  Street.  The  young  people  on  both  sides  accepted 
their  new  relationships  with  pleasure.  The  long-deferred 
scheme  of  sending  P'anny  and  her  youngest  sister  to  Paris 
was  now  finally  abandoned.      Susanna  undertook  to  in. 


Mrs.  Burney  Lectures  Fanny.  2t^ 

struct  Fanny  in  French,  and  Charlotte  was  put  to  school 
in  Norfolk.  For  some  years  the  united  families  spent 
their  summer  holidays  at  Lynn,  where  Mrs.  Burney  had 
a  dower-house.  But,  whether  in  town  or  country,  Frances 
and  Susanna  were  specially  devoted  to  each  other.  Susan 
alone  was  Fanny's  confidante  in  her  literary  attempts. 

As  the  latter's  age  increased,  her  passion  for  writing 
became  more  confirmed.  Every  scrap  of  white  paper  that 
could  be  seized  upon  without  question  or  notice  was  at  once 
covered  with  her  manuscript.  She  was  not  long  in  finding 
out  that  her  turn  was  mainly  for  story-telling  and  humorous 
description.  The  two  girls  laughed  and  cried  together, 
over  the  creations  of  the  elder's  fancy,  but  the  native 
timidity  of  the  young  author,  and  still  more,  perhaps,  her 
father's  low  estimate  of  her  capacity,  made  her  apprehend 
nothing  but  ridicule  if  what  she  scribbled  were  disclosed 
to  others.  She  worked  then  under  the  rose,  imposing  the 
strictest  silence  on  her  faithful  accomplice.  When  in 
London,  she  plied  her  pen  in  a  closet  up  two  pair  of  stairs, 
that  was  appropriated  to  the  younger  children  as  a  play- 
room. At  Lynn,  she  would  shut  herself  up  to  write  in  a 
summer-house,  which  went  by  the  name  of  '  The  Cabin.' 
Yet  all  her  simple  precautions  could  not  long  elude  the 
suspicion  of  her  sharp-sighted  stepmother.  The  second 
Mrs.  Burney  was  a  bustling,  sociable  person,  who  did  not 
approve  of  young  ladies  creeping  out  of  sight  to  stud}^ ; 
though  herself  fond  of  books,  and,  as  we  learn,  a  particular 
admirer  of  Sterne's  '  Sentimental  Journey,'  then  recently 
published,  she  was  a  matron  of  the  period,  and  could  not 
tolerate  the  idea  of  a  young  woman  under  her  control 
venturing  on  the  disesteemed  career  of  literature.  The 
culprit,  therefore,  was  seriously  and  frequently  admonished 
to  check  her  scribbling  propensity.  Some  morsels  of  her 
compositions,  falling  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Burne}-,  appear 


24  An  Atcfo  da  FS. 

to  have  added  point  to  the  censor's  remarks.  Fanny  was 
warned  not  to  waste  time  and  thought  over  idle  inventions; 
and  she  was  further  cautioned,  and  not  unreasonably, 
according  to  the  prevailing  notions  of  the  day,  as  to  the 
discredit  she  would  incur  if  she  came  before  the  public  as 
a  female  novelist.  The  future  author  of  '  Cecilia  '  was  only 
too  ready  to  assent  to  this  view,  and  to  cr}^  peccavi.  She 
bowed  before  her  stepmother's  rebukes,  and  prepared 
herself  inwardly  for  a  great  act  of  sacrifice.  Seizing  an 
opportunit}'  when  her  father  was  at  Chesington,  and  Mrs. 
Burney  was  in  Norfolk,  '  she  made  over  to  a  bonfire,  in  a 
paved  play-court,  her  whole  stock '  of  prose  manuscripts. 

The  fact  of  the  auto  da  fc  rests  on  the  authority  of  the 
penitent  herself :  her  niece  and  biographer,  Mrs.  Barrett, 
adds  that  Susanna  stood  by,  weeping  at  the  pathetic 
spectacle  ;  but  this  is  perhaps  only  a  legendary  accretion 
to  the  tale.  It  seems  certain  that  Fanny  fell  into  error, 
when,  long  years  afterwards,  she  wrote  of  the  incident  as 
having  occurred  on  her  fifteenth  birthday.*  Fanny  was 
never  very  careful  about  her  dates,  and  she  was  unquestion- 
ably more  than  fifteen  when  her  father's  second  marriage 
took  place.  In  spite  of  this,  we  are  not  warranted  in  ques- 
tioning Mrs.  Barrett's  express  statement  that  her  aunt's 
famous  Diary  was  commenced  at  the  age  of  fifteen. 
Though  of  that  portion  of  the  Diary  which  belongs  to 
the  3^ears  preceding  the  publication  of  '  Evelina,'  only  the 
opening  passages  have  been  printed,  and  though  the  style 
of  these  may  seem  to  betoken  a  more  advanced  age  than 
that  mentioned,  the  whole  was  before  the  biographer  when 
she  wrote,  and  the  contents  must,  have  spoken  for  them- 
selves. 

Frances  Burne\-  had  burned  her  papers  with  the  full 
intention  of  breaking  off  altogether  the  baneful  habit  of 

■•"  I'leface  to  the  'Wanderer.' 


Origin  of  Evelina.  25 

authorship.  Doubtless,  however,  she  did  not  consider 
that  her  resolution  of  total  abstinence  debarred  her  from 
keeping  a  journal ;  and  she  was  not  long  in  discovering 
that,  however  steadfastly  she  might  resist  the  impulses  of 
her  fancy,  its  wings  were  always  pluming  themselves  for 
a  flight.  The  latest-born  of  her  literary  bantlings  com- 
mitted to  the  flames  had  been  a  tale  setting  forth  the 
fortunes  and  fate  of  Caroline  Evelyn,  who  was  feigned  to 
be  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman  by  a  low-bred  wife,  and, 
after  the  death  of  her  father,  to  contract  a  clandestine 
marriage  with  a  faithless  baronet,  and  then  to  survive 
her  husband's  desertion  of  her  just  long  enough  to  give 
birth  to  a  female  child.  The  closing  incident  of  this 
tragic  and  tragically-destroyed  production  left  a  lively 
impression  on  the  mind  of  the  writer.  Her  imagi- 
nation dwelt  on  the  singular  situations  to  which  the 
infant,  as  she  grew  up,  would  be  exposed  by  the  lot  that 
placed  her  between  the  rival  claims  of  her  vulgar  grand- 
mother and  her  mother's  more  refined  connections,  and 
on  the  social  contrasts  and  collisions,  at  once  unusual  and 
natural,  which  the  supposed  circumstances  might  be  ex- 
pected to  occasion.  In  this  way,  from  the  ashes  of  the 
'  History  of  Caroline  Evelyn '  sprang  Frances  Burney's 
first  published  work,  '  Evelina  ;  or,  A  Young  Lady's  En- 
trance into  the  World.'  We  do  not  know  how  long  a 
time  expired  from  the  burning  of  her  manuscripts  before 
Fanny  relapsed  into  the  sin  of  fiction-scribbling  ;  but  the 
flood  of  her  invention  probably  rose  the  faster  for  being 
pent  up.  Irresistibly  and  almost  unconsciousl}',  she  tells" 
us,  the  whole  story  of  '  Evelina  '  was  laid  up  in  her  memory 
before  a  paragraph  had  been  committed  to  paper.  Even 
when  her  conscience  had  ceased  to  struggle,  her  oppor- 
tunities for  jotting  down  the  ideas  which  haunted  her 
were   few  and  far  between.     She  had  to  write  in  stolen 


26  Burney  Takes  his  Doctor  s  Degree. 

moments,  for  she  was  under  the  eye  of  her  stepmother. 
The  demands  on  her  time,  too,  became  greater  than  they 
had  been  when  Caroline  Evelyn  was  her  heroine.  Her 
Diary  occupied  a  large  part  of  her  leisure,  and  her  hours 
of  regular  employment  were  presently  lengthened  by  the 
work  of  transcribing  for  her  father. 

Charles  Burney  was  now  rising  to  eminence  in  his  pro- 
fession. To  be  Master  of  the  King's  Band  was  the  highest 
honour  then  within  the  reach  of  a  musician,  and  Burney 
had  been  promised  this  appointment,  though  the  promise 
was  broken  in  favour  of  a  candidate  supported  by  the 
Duke  of  York.*  In  the  summer  of  1769,  the  Duke  of 
Grafton  was  to  be  installed  as  Chancellor  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Cambridge.  The  poet  Gray  wrote  the  Installation 
Ode.  Burney  proposed  to  set  it  to  music,  and  to  conduct 
the  performance  at  the  ceremony,  intending,  at  the  same 
time,  to  take  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Music  at  Cambridge. 
The  Chancellor  Elect  accepted  his  offer  as  one  which 
the  composer's  rank  well  entitled  him  to  make ;  but  it 
soon  appeared  that  the  ideas  of  the  two  men  as  to  the 
relative  value  of  money  and  music  were  widely  different. 
His  Grace  would  consent  to  allow  for  the  expense  of 
singers  and  orchestra  only  one-half  the  amount  which  the 
conductor  considered  due  to  the  occasion  and  his  own 
importance.  Burney  in  disgust  threw  up  his  commission, 
and,  without  loss  of  time,  repaired  to  the  sister  University 
for  his  doctorate,  which  was  conferred  on  him  in  June, 
1769  ;  the  exercise  produced  by  him  as  his  qualification 
was  so  highly  thought  of  that  it  was  repeated  three  years 
successively  at  choral  meetings  in  Oxford,  and  was  after- 
wards performed  at  Hamburg  under  C.  P.  E.  Bach. 

Dr.  Burney's  new  title  did  not  appear  on  his  door-plate 
till  a  facetious  friend  exhorted  him  to  brazen  it.     But, 

'  i;<lwarcl,  brother  of  King  George  III. 


His  Essay  on  Comets.  27 

retiring  as  he  was,  the  constitutional  diffidence  which  his 
second  daughter  inherited  was  now  giving  way  in  him 
before  the  consciousness  of  abihty  and  attainments,  and 
the  irresistible  desire  to  establish  a  lasting  reputation. 
In  the  latter  part  of  the  same  year,  he  ventured  anony- 
mously into  print  with  his  first  literary  production.  Ten 
years  earlier,  the  return  of  Halley's  Comet  at  the  time 
predicted  seems  to  have  given  him  an  interest  in  as- 
tronomy, which  he  retained  through  life.  There  was  again 
a  comet  visible  in  1769,  and  this  drew  from  him  an  Essay 
on  Comets,  to  which  he  prefixed  a  translation  from  the 
pen  of  his  first  wife,  Esther,  of  a  letter  by  Maupertuis  * 
But  this  pamphlet  was  only  an  experiment,  and  being 
obviously  the  work  of  an  amateur,  attracted  little  notice. 
Having  once  tried  his  'prentice  hand  at  authorship,  he 
fixed  his  attention  on  his  proper  subject,  and  devoted 
himself  to  his  long-projected  '  History  of  Music' 

He  had  for  many  years  kept  a  commonplace  book,  in 
which  he  laid  up  notes,  extracts,  abridgments,  criticisms, 
as  the  matter  presented  itself.  So  large  was  the  col- 
lection thus  accumulated  that  it  seemed  to  his  family  '  as 
if  he  had  merely  to  methodize  his  manuscripts,  and  en- 
trust them  to  a  copyist,  for  completing  his  purpose.' 
The  copyist  was  at  hand  in  his  daughter  Frances,  who 
became  his  principal  secretar}^  and  librarian.  But,  as  the 
enterprise  proceeded,  the  views  of  the  historian  expanded. 
Much  information  that  would  now  be  readily  supplied  by 
public  journals  or  correspondence  was  then  only  to  be 

''^  The  title-page  runs  :  '  An  Essay  towards  the  history  of  the  principal 
Comets  that  have  appeared  since  1742  ;  with  remarks  and  reflections  upon  the 
present  Comet;  to  which  is  prefixed  a  Letter,'  etc.  London,  1709.  It  is  a 
curious  instance  of  Madame  d'Arblay's  inaccuracy  in  the  matter  of  dates,  that 
she  writes  in  detail  of  this  little  tract,  the  title  of  vvhich  she  misquotes,  as  having 
been  produced  when  'the  cornet  of  the  mimortal  Halley '  was  being  awaited. 
('Memoirs  of  Dr.  Burney,'  vol.  i.,  pp.  214-217.)  But  it  was  in  1759,  not  1769, 
that  Halley's  Comet  returned.  For  notices  of  the  comet  of  1769,  see  the 
Gentleman  s  Magazine  of  that  year. 


28  House  in  Qiteen  Square. 

obtained  by  personal  investigation  on  the  spot.  Early  in 
1770,  Dr.  Burney  had  determined  that  it  would  be  needful 
for  him  to  undertake  a  musical  tour  throug^h  France  and 
Italy.  He  started  on  this  expedition  in  June  of  that  year, 
and  did  not  return  until  the  following  January.  His 
absence  ■  gave  Fanny  a  considerable  increase  of  leisure 
and  opportunity  for  indulging  her  own  literary  dreams 
and  occupations.  Her  stepmother,  as  well  as  her  father, 
seems  to  have  left  her  at  liberty,  for  during  part  of 
this  interval,  at  least,  the  attention  of  Mrs.  Burney  was 
engaged  in  providing  a  better  habitation  for  her  husband. 
The  house  in  Poland  Street  had  been  found  too  small 
to  accommodate  the  combined  families.  In  addition  to  the 
children  of  their  former  marriages,  there  had  been  born  to 
the  parents  a  son,  who  was  baptized  Richard  Thomas,  and 
a  daughter  to  whom  they  gave  the  name  of  Sarah  Harriet. 
Mrs.  Burney  now  found,  and  having  found,  proceeded  to 
purchase  and  furnish,  a  large  house  in  the  upper  part  of 
Queen  Square,  Bloomsbury,  which  then  enjoyed  an  unin- 
terrupted view  of  the  Hampstead  and  Highgate  Hills. 
The  new  abode  had  once  belonged  to  Alderman  Barber, 
the  friend  of  Dean  Swift ;  and  the  Burneys  pleased  them- 
selves with  the  thought  that  there  the  great  saturnine 
humourist  had  been  wont  sometimes  to  set  the  table  in  a 
roar.  The  removal  was  effected  while  the  Doctor  was  still 
on  the  Continent.  On  his  arrival  in  London,  he  was 
welcomed  to  the  new  home  by  his  wife  and  children,  and 
by  the  never-failing  Mr.  Crisp.  We  hear,  however,  but 
little  of  this  house  in  Queen  Square,  and  even  less  of 
Fanny's  doings  there.  Her  father  had  scarcely  time  to 
become  acquainted  with  it  before  he  was  off  to  Chesington, 
where  he  occupied  himself  for  several  weeks  in  preparing 
the  journal  of  his  tour  for  the  press.  All  his  daughters 
were  pressed  into  the  service  of  copying  and  recopying 


Musical  Tottrs.  29 

his  manuscript,  but  the  chief  share  of  this  labour  fell  upon 
the  scribbling  Fanny.  The  book,  which  was  called  '  The 
Present  State  of  Music  in  France  and  Italy,'  appeared  in 
the  season  of  1771.  Thenceforth  his  friend  Crisp's  retreat 
became  Burney's  constant  resort  when  he  had  literary 
work  in  hand.  A  further  production  of  his  pen,  dealing 
with  a  matter  of  musical  technique,  came  forth  before  the 
close  of  the  same  year.  At  the  beginning  of  July,  1772, 
he  set  out  on  another  tour,  with  the  same  object  of 
collecting  materials  for  his  history,  his  route  being  now 
through  Germany  and  the  Netherlands.  During  this 
second  pilgrimage,  his  family  spent  their  time  partly  at 
Lynn,  partly  at  Chesington ;  and  Fanny,  as  we  are  told, 
— apparently  on  the  authority  of  her  unpublished  Diaries 
—profiting  by  the  opportunities  which  these  visits 
afforded,  then  "  gradually  arranged  and  connected  the 
disjointed  scraps  and  fragments  in  which  '  Evelina  '  had 
been  originally  written."  But,  careful  to  avoid  offence, 
"  she  never  indulged  herself  with  reading  or  writing  except 
in  the  afternoon  ;  always  scrupulously  devoting  her  time 
to  needlework  till  after  dinner." 

The  traveller's  absence  lasted  five  months  :  he  reached 
Calais  on  his  return  in  a  December  so  boisterous  that  for 
nine  days  no  vessel  could  cross  the  Channel ;  and  Fanny 
relates  that,  when  at  length  the  passage  was  effected,  he 
was  too  much  exhausted  by  sea-sickness  to  quit  his  berth, 
and,  falling  asleep,  was  carried  back  to  France  to  encounter 
another  stormy  voyage,  and  a  repetition  of  his  sea  sickness, 
before  he  finally  landed  at  Dover.  The  fatigues  and 
hardships  of  his  homeward  journey  brought  on  a  severe 
attack  of  rheumatism,  to  which  he  was  subject.  Fanny 
and  her  sisters  nursed  him,  sitting  by  his  bedside,  pen  in 
hand,  to  set  down  the  narrative  of  his  German  tour  as 
his  sufferings  allowed  of  his  dictating  it.     As  soon  as  he 


30  Newton  s  House. 

was  sufficiently  recovered,  he  went  down  to  Chesington 
not  forgetting  to  carry  his  secretaries  with  him. 

During  this  illness,  or  a  relapse  which  followed  it,  the 
house  in  Queen  Square  had  to  be  relinquished  from 
difficulties  respecting  the  title  :  and  Mrs.  Burney  pur- 
chased and  fitted  up  another  in  a  central  situation,  which 
was  at  once  more  convenient  for  her  husband's  teaching 
engagements,  and  more  agreeable  to  him  as  being  nearer 
to  the  opera,  the  theatres,  and  the  clubs.  St.  Martin's 
Street,  Leicester  Fields,  to  which  the  family  removed,  is 
now  among  the  most  dingy,  not  to  say  the  most  squalid, 
of  London  streets;  even  in  1773,  'its  unpleasant  site,  its 
confined  air,  and  its  shabby  immediate  neighbourhood,' 
are  spoken  of  as  drawbacks  requiring  compensation  on 
an  exchange  from  the  fair  and  open  view  of  the  northern 
heights,  crowned  with  Caen  Woods,  which  had  faced 
the  windows  in  Bloomsbury.  But,  apart  from  the  prac- 
tical advantages  before  mentioned,  the  new  home  was 
invested  with  a  strong  attraction  for  the  incomers  in 
having  been  once  inhabited  by  a  personage  whom  our 
astronomical  Doctor  revered,  and  taught  his  children  to 
revere,  as  '  the  pride  of  human  nature.'  The  belief  that 
the  house  in  Queen  Square  had  occasionall}'  been  visited 
by  Dean  Swift  was  nothing  compared  with  the  certain 
knowledge  that  No.  i,  St.  Martin's  Street,  had  been  the 
dwelling  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.*  The  topmost  story  was 
surmounted  by  an  '  observatory,'  having  a  leaden  roof, 
and  sides  composed  entirely  of  small  panes  of  glass,  except 
such  parts  as  were  taken  up  by  a  cupboard,  fireplace  and 

*  The  house  is  now  No.  35.  It  was  occupied  by  Newton  from  the  time 
when  he  became  I'resiilenl  of  the  Royal  Society  down  to  his  death  in  1727. 
He  did  not  actually  die  there,  as  has  been  sometimes  stated,  but  at  Orbell's 
Buildings,  Kensington,  whiiher  he  used  to  resort  for  chanjje  of  air.  See  Notes 
and  Queries,  Third  Series,  i.  29.  For  the  number  of  the  house  during  Dr. 
Burney's  occupation,  see  a  letter  from  him  to  Fanny  in  her  Uiary,  New 
Edition,  vol.  i.,  297. 


Fanny  Arrives  at   Wo7nanhood.  31 

chimney.  This  structure  being  much  dilapidated  when 
Dr.  Burney  entered  into  possession,  his  first  act  was  to 
put  what  he  looked  on  as  a  special  relic  of  his  great 
predecessor  into  complete  repair.  The  house  itself  was 
sufficiently  large  for  the  new  tenant's  family,  as  well  as 
for  his  books,  '  which  now  began  to  demand  nearly  equal 
accommodation.'  Having  recovered  his  health,  and  set 
his  affairs  in  order,  the  Doctor  next  resumed  his  daily 
round  of  lessons,  and  applied  himself  to  remedy  any 
injur}-  which  his  professional  connection  had  sustained 
from  his  two  prolonged  absences  on  the  Continent.  His 
pen  was  laid  aside  for  a  time,  but  the  German  Tour  was 
published  before  the  end  of  this  year,  and  proved  ver}- 
successful.  About  the  same  time,  its  author  was  elected 
a  fellow  of  the  Royal  Society.  The  first  volume  of  his 
'  History  of  Music  ' — in  which  work  the  main  part  of  both 
his  Tours  was  incorporated — did  not  appear  till  1776.  We 
are  now  arrived  at  the  time  when  our  heroine  has  attained 
majority.  Her  womanhood  may  be  said  to  have  com- 
menced with  the  removal  to  St.  Martin's  Street.  In  our 
next  chapter  we  shall  see  how  the  first  portion  of  it  was 
spent. 


Life  in  St.  Martins  Street. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Life  in  St.  Martin's  Street — Increase  of  Fame  and  Friends — Garrick's  First 
Call — Confusion — The  Hairdresser — 'Tag-rag  and  Bobtail ' — The  History  of 
Histories — Imitation  of  Dr.  Johnson — The  Great  Roscius — Mr.  Crisp's  Gout 
— Correspondence  between  him  and  Fanny — Dr.  Burney's  Concerts — ^ Abys- 
sinian Bruce — Supper  in  St.  Martin's  Street — Italian  Singers — A  Musical 
Evening- — Visit  of  Count  Orloff — His  Stature  and  jewels — Condescension — 
A  Matrimonial  Duet — The  Empress's  Miniature— Jemmy  Twitcher — Present 
State  of  St.  Martin's  Street — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale — Dr.  Johnson— Visit  of 
the  Thrales  and  Johnson — Appearance  of  Dr.  Johnson — His  Conversation 
— His  Contempt  for  Music — Meeting  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.  Greville — 
Mrs.  Thrale  Defiant — Signor  Piozzi. 

Frances  Burney's  Memoirs  of  her  father,  her  letters 
to  Daddy  Crisp,  and  her  Diary,  together,  give  us  a  pretty 
distinct  idea  of  her  hfe  in  the  httle  street  south  of  Leices- 
ter Square.  From  the  time  when  Dr.  Burney  became 
estabhshed  in  that  quarter,  the  circle  of  his  friends  and 
his  reputation  steadily  widened.  In  no  long  time  he 
made  acquaintance  with  his  neighbours,  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Miss  Reynolds,  and  their  nieces,  the  Misses 
Palmer ;  with  another  neighbour,  the  sculptor  Nollekens  ; 
with  the  painter  Barry,  Harris  of  Salisbury,*  Mrs.  Ord, 
Sir  Joseph  Banks,  and  Abyssinian  Bruce,  then  just  re- 
turned from  his  travels.  All  these  and  others  were,  from 
time  to  time,  to  be  found  in  the  Doctor's  modest  drawing- 
room,    together   with    many    old     friends,    such    as    the 

*  James  Harris,  author  of  'Ilermes;  or  a  Phiicsophical  Inquiry  into 
Universal  Grammar,'  and  several  other  works.  Entering  Parliament  in  1761, 
he  became  a  Lord  of  the  Adnnralty,  and  sul)sec|uently  a  Lord  of  the  Treasury, 
etc.     He  died  in  1786. 


Garrick! s  Fii^st  Call.  2)2> 

Stranges,  Garrick,   Colman,    Mason,    the   Hooles,   father 
and  son,  Twining,  and  Baretti. 

We  have,  in  the  '  Memoirs,'  an  account  of  David  Gar- 
rick's  first  call  at  the  house  in  St.  Martin's  Street,  which, 
though  written  in  the  author's  later  style,  was  no  doubt 
derived  from  contemporary  notes  or  journals  : — It  was 
early  morning,  and  the  doorsteps  were  being  washed  by  a 
new  housemaid,  who,  not  recognising  the  actor,  demurred 
to  his  entering  unannounced.  He  brushed  past  her,  ran 
upstairs,  and  burst  into  the  Doctor's  study.  Here  he 
found  the  master  of  the  house  under  the  hands  of  his 
hairdresser ;  while  Susanna  was  reading  a  newspaper  to 
him,  Charlotte  making  his  tea,  and  Fanny  arranging  his 
books.  There  was  a  litter  of  papers  everywhere.  Burney 
would  have  cleared  a  chair,  but  the  visitor  plumped  down 
into  one  that  was  well  cushioned  with  pamphlets,  crying : 
'  Ay,  do  now.  Doctor,  be  in  a  little  confusion !  Whisk 
your  matters  all  out  of  their  places,  and  don't  know 
where  to  find  a  thing  that  you  want  for  the  rest  of  the 
day,  and  that  will  make  us  all  comfortable.'  The  Doctor 
then,  laughing,  returned  to  his  place  on  the  stool,  that  his 
wig — or,  as  Madame  d'Arblay  calls  it,  the  furniture  of 
his  head — might  go  through  its  proper  repairs.  David, 
assuming  a  solemn  air  of  profound  attention,  fastened  his 
eyes  upon  the  hairdresser,  as  if  wonderstruck  at  his 
amazing  skill.  The  man,  highly  gratified  by  such  notice 
from  the  celebrated  Garrick,  briskly  worked  on,  frizzing, 
curling,  powdering,  and  pasting,  after  the  mode  of  the 
day,  with  the  utmost  importance  and  self-complacenc}'. 
Garrick  himself  had  on  what  he  called  his  scratch  wig, 
which  was  so  uncommonly  ill-arranged  and  frightful  that 
the  whole  family  agreed  no  one  else  could  have  appeared 
in  such  a  state  in  the  public  streets  without  risk  of 
being   hooted    at.     He    dropped    now    all    talk   with  the 

3 


34  ^^f^f-   Hairdresser. 

Doctor,  not  even  answering  what  he  said,  and  seemed 
wholly  absorbed  in  watching  what  was  going  on  ;  putting 
on,  b}^  degrees,  with  a  power  like  transformation,  a  little 
mean  face  of  envy  and  sadness,  such  as  he  wore  in  repre- 
senting Abel  Drugger,  till  at  length,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
spectators,  he  passed  out  of  himself  altogether,  and,  with 
his  mouth  hanging  stupidly  open,  and  his  features  vacant 
of  all  expression,  he  became  the  likeness  of  some  daubed 
wooden  block  in  a  barber's  shop  window.  The  friseur, 
who  at  the  beginning  had  felt  flattered  on  seeing  his  opera- 
tions so  curiously  observed,  was  put  out  of  countenance  by 
this  incomprehensible  change,  became  presently  so  embar- 
rassed that  he  hardh*  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  at  last 
fell  into  utter  consternation.  Scared  and  confounded,  he 
hastily  rolled  up  the  last  two  curls,  and  prepared  to  make 
his  retreat  ;  but  before  he  could  escape,  Garrick,  lifting 
his  own  miserable  scratch  from  his  head,  and  holding  it 
out  on  his  finger  and  thumb,  squeaked  out  in  a  whining 
voice,  '  Pray  now,  sir,  do  you  think,  sir,  you  could  touch 
me  up  this  here  old  bob  a  little  bit,  sir  ?' 

The  hairdresser  dismissed,  the  actor,  who  could  not 
help  acting,  proceeded  to  give  further  proofs  of  his  versa- 
tility. '  And  so.  Doctor,'  he  began,  *  you,  with  your  tag- 
rag  and  bobtail  there — — '  Here  he  pointed  to  some 
shelves  of  shabb}-  books  and  tracts,  which  he  started  up 
to  examine  ;  the  next  moment,  becoming  an  auctioneer, 
he  offered  for  sale  these  valuable  works,  each  worth  a 
hundred  pounds,  and  proclaimed  that  they  were  'going, 
going,  going,  at  a  penny  apiece.'  Then,  quietly  reseat- 
ing himself:  'And  so,  Doctor,'  he  continued,  'you,  and 
tag-rag  and  bobtail  there,  shut  yourselves  up  in  this  snug 
little  bookstall,  with  all  your  bright  elves  around  you,  to 
rest  }our  understanding  !'  There  were  loud  cries  of  mock 
indignation  from  the  young  people  at  the  idea  of  papa 


Imitation  of  Dr.  Johnson.  35 

resting  his  understanding.  Garrick  apologized  in  his  best 
stage  manner,  and  after  some  further  talk,  inquired,  '  But 
when,  Doctor,  shall  we  have  out  the  History  of  His- 
tories ?  Do  let  me  know  in  time,  that  I  may  prepare  to 
blow  the  trumpet  of  fame.'  Of  course,  this  was  a  prelude 
to  his  appearing  in  the  character  of  a  cheap-jack,  adver- 
tising '  the  only  true  History.'  Invited  to  the  parlour  to 
breakfast,  he  excused  himself  on  the  plea  of  being  engaged 
at  home  to  Twiss*  and  Boswell,  whom  immediately  he 
took  off  to  the  life.  Encouraged  by  the  laughter  of  his 
audience,  this  most  reprehensible  person,  who  set  no 
bounds  to  his  levity,  proceeded  to  offer  an  imitation 
of  Dr.  Johnson  himself.  He  sincerely  honoured  and 
loved  Dr.  Johnson,  he  said,  but  that  great  man  had 
eccentricities  which  his  most  attached  admirers  were 
irresistibly  impelled  to  mimic.  Arranging,  therefore,  his 
dress  so  as  to  enlarge  his  person,  in  some  strange  wa}', 
several  inches  beyond  its  natural  size,  assuming  the  voice 
and  authoritative  port  of  the  lexicographer,  and  giving  a 
thundering  stamp  on  the  carpet,  the  devout  worshipper  of 
Dr.  Johnson  delivered,  with  sundry  extraordinary  attitudes 
and  gestures,  a  short  dialogue  that  had  passed  between 
them  during  the  preceding  week : 

"  David  !     Will  you  lend  me  your  '  Petrarca  '  ?" 

"  Y — e — s,  sir  !" 

"  David,  you  sigh  ?" 

"  Sir,  you  shall  have  it,  certainly." 

"  Accordingl)%"  Garrick  continued,  "  the  book — stu- 
pendously bound — I  sent  to  him  that  very  evening.  But 
scarcely  had  he  taken  the  noble  quarto  in  his  hands, 
when,  as  Boswell  tells  me,  he  poured  forth  a  Greek 
ejaculation,  and  a  couplet  or  two  from  Horace  ;  and 
then,  in  one  of  those  fits  of  enthusiasm   which   alwa\'s 

*  Authof  tif  '  Travels  in  Spain.' 

3—2 


36  The  G7'eat  Rosciiis. 

seem  to  require  that  he  should  spread  his  arms  aloft  in 
the  air,  his  haste  was  so  great  to  debarrass  them  for  that 
purpose,  that  he  suddenly  pounces  my  poor  '  Petrarca  ' 
over  his  head  upon  the  floor — Russia  leather,  gold  border, 
and  all  !  And  then,  standing  for  several  minutes  erect, 
lost  in  abstraction,  he  forgot,  probably,  that  he  had  ever 
seen  it,  and  left  my  poor  dislocated  Beauty  to  the  mercy 
of  the  housemaid's  morning  mop  !" 

This  concluded  the  performance,  and  the  performer 
presently  took  his  leave.  After  he  had  said  good-bye,  and 
left  the  room,  he  hastily  came  back,  whimsically  laughing, 
and  said  :  '  Here's  one  of  your  maids  downstairs  that  I 
love  prodigiously  to  talk  to,  because  she  is  so  cross  ! 
She  was  washing,  and  rubbing,  and  scrubbing,  and  whiten- 
ing and  brightening  your  steps  this  morning,  and  would 
hardly  let  me  pass.  Egad,  sir,  she  did  not  know  the 
great  Roscius  !  But  I  frightened  her  a  little  just  now: 
"Child,"  says  I,  "you  don't  guess  whom  you  have  the 
happiness  to  see  !  Do  you  know  that  I  am  one  of  the 
first  geniuses  of  the  age  ?  You  would  faint  away  upon 
the  spot  if  you  could  only  imagine  who  I  am  !"  ' 

One  familiar  face  was  no  longer  seen  at  Burney's  house. 
Mr.  Crisp  had  become  subject  to  such  frequent  fits  of 
gout  that  his  visits  to  London  were  almost  given  up,  and 
he  rarely  slept  even  a  single  night  away  from  Chesington. 
But  his  interest  in  musical  and  literary  news,  and  in  all 
that  concerned  the  Burney  family,  continued  unabated. 
What  he  could  no  more  take  part  in  himself  was  duly 
communicated  to  him  by  letter. 

How  early  the  correspondence  between  Frances  and 
the  family  friend  began  we  are  not  informed.  But  it 
must  have  commenced  long  before  she  was  old  enough  to 
be  admitted  to  parties  such  as  she  had  now  to  describe  to 
her  'daddy.'    In  a  passage  written  at  seventy-two,  she  has 


Dr.  Burneys  Concerts,  2)7 

set  down  "  a  charge  delivered  to  me  by  our  dear  vehement 
Mr.  Crisp  at  the  opening  of  my  juvenile  correspondence 
with  him  :  '  Harkee,  you  little  monkey  !  dash  away  what- 
ever comes  uppermost  ;  if  you  stop  to  consider  either 
what  you  say,  or  what  may  be  said  of  you,  I  would  not 
give  one  fig  for  your  letters.'  "  So  rough  a  speech  could 
not  have  been  addressed,  even  by  a  professed  cynic,  to 
any  young  lady  very  far  advanced  in  her  teens.  In  the 
letters  from  which  we  are  about  to  quote,  Miss  Fann}- 
prattles  to  the  old  man  with  perfect  ease  and  confidence, 
showing  that  she  felt  herself  on  terms  of  established 
familiarity,  and  was  quite  free  from  the  shyness  and 
embarrassment  that  would  attend  a  timid  girl's  first  efforts 
to  entertain  him. 

For  many  years  Dr.  Burney  had  given  informal  evening 
concerts  at  his  house.  These  entertainments,  to  which 
he  had  been  prompted  by  Crisp,  began  in  Poland  Street, 
were  continued  in  Queen  Square,  and  attained  their 
highest  distinction  in  St.  Martin's  Street.  There  was  no 
band,  no  hired  singer,  no  programme,  no  admission  by 
ticket.  A  word  from  the  courteous  host  was  the  only 
invitation  needed  or  expected.  But  the  company,  as  well 
as  the  music,  was  attractive  even  to  guests  accustomed 
to  fashionable  society.  Before  his  writings  made  him 
famous,  Burney's  extensive  acquaintance  brought  him 
visitors  whom  the  curious  were  anxious  to  meet.  Some 
came  to  see  Sir  Constantine  Phipps,  afterwards  Lord 
Mulgrave,  on  his  return  from  his  Arctic  voyage.  Others 
came  for  a  view  of  Omai,  whom  Captain  Cook  had  im- 
ported from  the  South  Seas.  On  one  occasion  the  gentle 
savage  obliged  the  musical  audience  with  a  Tahitian  love- 
song,  which  proved  to  be  a  mere  confused  rumbling  of 
uncouth  sounds.  Whatever  the  incident  of  the  evening. 
Crisp  looked  for  a  full  report  of  it  from  '  his  Fannikin.' 


38  .    Abyssinian  Bruce. 

The  sense  of  humour  which  we  may  still  see  brimming 
over  in  her  portrait  was  greatly  provoked  by  Bruce,  the 
particular  lion  of  that  day.  The  explorer  was  reported  to 
have  brought  home  with  him  drawings  of  a  Theban  harp 
at  least  three  thousand  years  old,  and  of  an  Abyssinian 
lyre  in  present  use,  about  which  Fanny  was  evidently 
more  sceptical  than  her  father,  who  was  always  ready  to 
welcome  materials  for  his  '  History.'  '  The  Abyssinians  have 
lyres,  have  they?'  said  George  Selwyn ;  'well,  they  have 
one  less  since  he  left  their  country.'  Bruce  was  a  person- 
age of  stupendous  height  and  breadth,  whose  pompous 
manners  were  proportioned  to  his  size  and  fame.  '  He  is 
the  tallest  man  you  ever  saw  in  3'our  life — at  least  gratis,' 
wrote  the  observer.  Nevertheless  '  the  man-mountain ' 
condescended  to  the  Burneys.  In  the  season  of  his 
greatest  glory,  he  figured  several  times  at  the  Doctor's 
concerts,  of  which  visits  faithful  accounts  were  duly 
despatched  to  Chesington.  On  one  of  these  evenings 
Mr.  Bruce  even  consented  to  stay  supper,  "which,  you 
know,"  says  Fanny,  "  with  us  is  nothing  but  a  permission 
to  sit  over  a  table  for  chat,  and  roast  potatoes  or  apples. 
But  now,"  she  continues,  "  to  perfect  your  acquaint- 
ance with  this  towering  Ethiopian,  where  do  you  think 
he  will  take  you  during  supper  ?  To  the  source,  or 
sources,  you  cry,  of  the  Nile  ?  to  Thebes  ?  to  its  temple  ? 
to  an  arietta  on  the  Theban  harp  ?  or  perhaps  to  banquet- 
ing on  hot  raw  beef  in  Abyssinia?  No  such  thing,  my 
dear  Mr.  Crisp  —  no  such  thing.  Travellers  who  mean  to 
write  their  travels  are  fit  for  nothing  but  to  represent  the 
gap  at  your  whist-table  at  Chesington,  when  you  have 
only  three  players ;  for  they  are  dummies.  Mr.  Bruce 
left  all  his  exploits,  his  wanderings,  his  vanishings,  his 
reappearances,  his  harps  so  celestial,  and  his  bullocks  so 
terrestrial,  to  plant  all  our  entertainment  within  a  hundred 


Italian  Singers.  39 

3'ards  of  our  own  coterie ;  namely,  at  the  rnase|uerades  at 
the  Haymarket."  Then  follows  a  stor}'  of  a  practical  jest 
not  worth  copying.  "To  have  looked  at  Mr.  Bruce  in  his 
glee  at  this  buffoonery,  you  must  really  have  been  amused; 
though  methinks  I  see,  supposing  you  had  been  with  us, 
the  picturesque  rising  of  your  brow,  and  all  the  dignity  of 
your  Roman  nose,  while  you  would  have  stared  at  such 
familiar  delight  in  an  active  joke  as  to  transport  into  so 
merry  an  cspicglc  the  seven-footed  loftiness  of  the  haughty 
and  impetuous  tourist  from  the  sands  of  Ethiopia,  and  the 
waters  of  Abyssinia  ;  whom,  nevertheless,  I  have  now  the 
honour  to  portray  in  his  robe  de  chamhrc,  that  is,  in  private 
society,  to  m)'  dear  Chesington  daddy." 

But  far  greater  things  were  to  follow  this  stalking  of 
the  African  lion.  The  Continental  reputation  which  Dr. 
Burney  acquired  by  his  tours,  and  which  was  extended 
by  the  first  instalment  of  his  '  History,'  '  attracted  to  his 
house,'  as  Macaulay  points  out,  '  the  most  eminent 
musical  performers  of  that  age.  The  greatest  Italian 
singers  who  visited  England  regarded  him  as  the  dispenser 
of  fame  in  their  art,  and  exerted  themselves  to  obtain  his 
suffrage.  Pacchierotti*  became  his  intimate  friend.  The 
rapacious  Agujari,t  who  sang  for  nobody  else  under  fifty 
pounds  an  air,  sang  her  best  for  Dr.  Burney  without  a 
fee  ;  and  in  the  company  of  Dr.  Burney  even  the  haughty 
and  eccentric  Gabrielli;!:  constrained  herself  to  behave 
with  civility.  It  was  thus  in  his  power  to  give,  with 
scarcely   any   expense,   concerts    equal   to   those    of   the 

*  'Nothing  is  fit  to  be  heard  but  Pacchierotti,'  was  the  general  verdict, 
according  to  Walpole. 

t  A  celebrated  Italian  singer,  wife  of  Colla,  an  Italian  composer.  She  was 
engaged  at  the  Pantheon  to  sing  two  songs  nightly,  for  which  she  received ;^IOO. 

t  A  performer  of  great  Continental  reputation,  whose  merits  were  much  con- 
troverted in  England.  '  Is,  or  has  the  Gabrielli  been,  a  great  singer  ?'  nsks 
Walpole  of  his  Florence  correspondent.  '  She  has,  at  least,  not  honoured  us 
but  with  a  most  slender  low  voice.' 


40  A  Musical  Evening. 

aristocracy.  On  such  occasions  the  quiet  street  in  which 
he  lived  was  blocked  up  by  coroneted  chariots,  and  his 
little  drawing-room  was  crowded  with  peers,  peeresses, 
ministers,  and  ambassadors.' 

The  following  extract  from  one  of  Fanny's  letters  con- 
tains a  full  description  of  the  most  memorable  of  these 
musical  evenings,  though  it  was  one  on  which  no  foreign 
artist  performed  : 

"  You  reproach  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Crisp,  for  not  sending 
you  an  account  of  our  last  two  concerts.  But  the  fact  is, 
I  have  not  anything  new  to  tell  you.  The  music  has 
always  been  the  same :  the  matrimonial  duets*  are  so 
much  a  la  mode,  that  no  other  thing  in  our  house  is  now 
demanded.  But  if  I  can  write  you  nothing  new  about 
music,  you  want,  I  well  know  you  will  say,  to  hear  some 
conversations. 

My  dear  Mr.  Crisp,  there  is,  at  this  moment,  no  such 
thing  as  conversation.  There  is  only  one  question  asked, 
meet  whom  you  may,  namely  :  '  How  do  you  like  Gabri- 
elli  ?'  and  only  two  modes,  contradictory,  to  be  sure, 
but  very  steady,  of  reply :  either,  '  Of  all  things  upon 
earth  !'  or,  '  Not  the  least  bit  in  the  whole  world  !' 

Well,  now  I  will  present  you  with  a  specimen,  begin- 
ning with  our  last  concert  but  one,  and  arranging  the 
persons  of  the  drama  in  the  order  of  their  actual  appear- 
ance. 

But,  imprimis,  I  should  tell  you  that  the  motive  to 
this  concert  was  a  particular  request  to  my  father  from 
Dr.  King,  our  old  friend,  and  the  chaplain  to  the  British — 
something— at  St.  Petersburg,  that  he  would  give  a  littk- 
music  to  a  certain  mighty  personage,  who,  somehow  or 

*  Duets  between  Estlier  Burney,  now  married,  and  her  luishand,  who  was 
also  her  cousin  and  a  Hurncy.  Esther  was  the  beauty  of  the  family,  and 
became  a  wife  earl) . 


Visit  of  Count  Orloff.  41 

other  how,  must  needs  take,  transiently  at  least,  a  front 
place  in  future  history,  namely,  the  famed  favourite  of  the 
Empress  Catherine  of  Russia — Prince*  Orloff. 

There,  my  dear  Mr.  Crisp  !  what  say  you  to  seeing 
such  a  doughty  personage  as  that  in  a  private  house,  at  a 
private  party,  of  a  private  individual — fresh  imported  from 
the  Czarina  of  all  the  Russias,  to  sip  a  cup  of  tea  in  St. 
Martin's  Street  ?  I  wonder  whether  future  historians 
will  happen  to  mention  this  circumstance  ?  I  am  think- 
ing of  sending  it  to  all  the  keepers  of  records.  But  I  see 
your  rising  eyebrows  at  this  name — your  start — your  dis- 
gust— yet  big  curiosity. 

Well,  suppose  the  family  assembled,  its  honoured  chief 
in  the  midst — and  Tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  at  the  door. 

Enter  Dr.  Ogle,  Dean  of  Winchester. 

Dr.  Blimey,  after  the  usual  ceremonies  : — '  Did  you 
hear  the  Gabrielli  last  night,  Mr.  Dean  ?' 

The  Dean :  '  No,  Doctor,  I  made  the  attempt,  but 
soon  retreated,  for  I  hate  a  crowd — as  much  as  the  ladies 
love  it !  I  beg  pardon  !'  bowing  with  a  sort  of  civil  sneer 
at  us  fair  sex. 

My  mother  was  entering  upon  a  spirited  defence,  when 
— Tat,  tat,  tat. 

Enter  Dr.  King. 

He  brought  the  compliments  of  Prince  Orloff,  with 
his  Highness's  apologies  for  being  so  late  ;  but  he  was 
obliged  to  dine  at  Lord  Buckingham's,  and  thence  to 
show  himself  at  Lady  Harrington's. 

As  nobody  thought  of  inquiring  into  Dr.  King's 
opinion  of  La  Gabrielli,  conversation  was  at  a  stand, 
till — Tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  too,  and 

*  Fanny  should  rather  have  written.  Count  Orlofl". 


42  Visit  of  Count  Orloff. 

Enier  Lady  Edgcumhe. 

We  were  all  introduced  to  her,  and  she  was  ver}- 
chatty,  courteous,  and  entertaining.  [Lady  Edgcumbe  is 
asked  the  usual  question  about  Gabrielli,  as  also  are  the 
Honourable  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brudenel,  who  appear  next. 
Then  we  are  introduced  in  succession  to  the  Baron  Demi- 
doff,  Harris  of  Salisbury,  and  Lord  Bruce.]  At  length 
— Tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  too ! 

Enter  his  Highness  Prince  Orlojf. 

Have  you  heard  the  dreadful  story  of  the  thumb,  by 
which  this  terrible  Prince  is  said  to  have  throttled  the 
late  Emperor  of  Russia,  Peter,  by  suddenly  pressing  his 
windpipe  while  he  was  drinking  ?  I  hope  it  is  not  true; 
and  Dr.  King,  of  whom,  while  he  resided  in  Russia, 
Prince  Orloff  was  the  patron,  denies  the  charge.  Never- 
theless, it  is  so  currently  reported,  that  neither  Susan  nor 
I  could  keep  it  one  moment  from  our  thoughts  ;  and  w^e 
both  shrank  from  him  with  secret  horror,  heartily  wishing 
him  in  his  own  Black  Sea. 

His  sight,  however,  produced  a  strong  sensation,  both 
in  those  who  believed,  and  those  who  discredited  this  dis- 
gusting barbarity ;  for  another  story,  not  perhaps  of  less 
real,  though  of  less  sanguinary  guilt,  is  not  a  tale  of 
rumour,  but  a  crime  of  certainty  ;  namely,  that  he  is  the 
first  favourite  of  the  cruel,  inhuman  Empress — if  it  be 
true  that  she  connived  at  this  horrible  murder. 

His  Highness  was  immediately  preceded  by  another 
Russian  nobleman,  whose  name  I  have  forgot  ;  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  noble  Hessian,  General  Bawr. 

Prince  Orloff  is  of  stupendous  stature,  something  re- 
sembling Mr.  Bruce.  He  is  handsome,  tall,  fat,  upright, 
magnificent.  His  dress  was  superb.  Besides  the  blue 
garter,  he  had  a  star  of  diamonds  of  prodigious  brilliancy, 


The  CoujWs  Stattire  and  Jewels.  43 

a  shoulder-knot  of  the  same  lustre  and  value,  and  a 
picture  of  the  Empress  hung  about  his  neck,  set  round 
with  diamonds  of  such  brightness  and  magnitude  that, 
when  near  the  light,  they  were  too  dazzling  for  the  eye. 
His  jewels,  Dr.  King  says,  are  estimated  at  one  hundred 
thousand  pounds  sterling. 

His  air  and  address  are  showy,  striking,  and  assidu- 
ously courteous.  He  had  a  look  that  frequently  seemed 
to  say,  '  I  hope  you  observe  that  I  come  from  a  polished 
Court  ?  I  hope  you  take  note  that  I  am  no  Cossack  ?' 
Yet,  with  all  this  display  of  commanding  affability,  he 
seems,  from  his  native  taste  and  humour,  '  agreeably 
addicted  to  pleasantry.'  He  speaks  very  little  English, 
but  knows  French  perfectly. 

His  introduction  to  my  father,  in  which  Dr.  King 
pompously  figured,  passed  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
library  was  so  crowded  that  he  could  onl}^  show  himself 
at  the  door,  which  was  barely  high  enough  not  to  discom- 
pose his  prodigious  toupee.  He  bowed  to  Mr.  Chamier,* 
then  my  next  neighbour,  whom  he  had  somewhere  met ; 
but  I^was  so  impressed  by  the  shocking  rumours  of  his 
horrible  actions,  that  involuntarily  I  drew  back  even  from 
a  bow  of  vicinity  ;  murmuring  to  Mr.  Chamier,  '  He  looks 
so  potent  and  mighty,  I  do  not  like  to  be  near  him!' 

'  He  has  been  less  unfortunate,'  answered  Mr.  Chamier 
archly,  '  elsewhere  ;  such  objection  has  not  been  made 
to  him  by  all  ladies.' 

Lord  Bruce,  who  knew,  immediately  rose  to  make  way 
for  him,  and  moved  to  another  end  of  the  room.  The 
Prince  instantly  held  out  his  vast  hand,  in  which,  if  he  had 
also  held  a  cambric  handkerchief,  it  must  have  looked  like  a 
white  flag  on  the  top  of  a  mast — so  much  higher  than  the 

*  Anthony  Chamier  was  member  of  Parliament  for  Tamworth,  and  Under- 
Secretary  of  State  from  1775  till  his  death  in  17S0.  He  was  an  original 
member  of  the  celebrated  Literary  Club. 


44  His  Condescension. 

most  tip-top  height  of  every  head  in  the  room  was  his 
spread-out  arm,  as  he  exclaimed,  'Ah!  milord  me 
fiiit  r 

His  Honour,*  then,  rising  also,  with  a  profound  re- 
verence, offered  his  seat  to  his  Highness  ;  but  he  posi- 
tively refused  to  accept  it,  and  declared  that  if  Mr. 
Brudenel  would  not  be  seated,  he  would  himself  retire  ; 
and  seeing  Mr.  Brudenel  demur,  still  begging  his 
Highness  to  take  the  chair,  he  cried,  with  a  laugh,  but 
very  peremptorily,  '  Non,  non,  monsieur !  Je  ne  le  veux 
pas  !  Jc  suis  opinidtre,  moi ;  iin  pen  coinme  Messieurs  les 
Anglais  .'' 

Mr.  Brudenel  then  reseated  himself;  and  the  corner 
of  a  form  appearing  to  be  vacant,  from  the  pains  taken  by 
poor  Susan  to  shrink  away  from  Mr.  Orloff,  his  Highness 
suddenly  dropped  down  upon  it  his  immense  weight,  with 
a  force — notwithstanding  a  palpable  and  studied  en- 
deavour to  avoid  doing  mischief — that  threatened  his 
gigantic  person  with  plumping  upon  the  floor,  and  terrified 
all  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  form  with  the  danger  of 
visiting  the  ceiling. 

Perceiving  Susan  strive,  though  vainly,  from  want  of 
space,  to  glide  further  off  from  him,  and  struck,  perhaps, 
by  her  sweet  countenance,  '  Ah,  ha  !'  he  cried,  '  je  tiens  ici, 
jc  vois,  une  petite  prisonnicre  .'' 

Charlotte,  blooming  like  a  budding  little  Hebe,  actu- 
ally stole  into  a  corner  from  affright  at  the  whispered 
history  of  his  thumb  ferocity. 

Mr.  Chamier,  who  now  probably  had  developed  what 
passed  in  my  mind,  contrived,  very  comically,  to  disclose 
his  similar  sentiment  ;  for,  making  a  quiet  way  to  my  ear, 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  '  I  wish  Dr.  Burney  had  invited 
Omiah  hereto-night  instead  of  Prince  Orloff!' — meaning, 

*  A  naim- l)y  which  iMr.  liriulL-ncI,  afterwards  Karl  of  Cardigan,  was  known. 


A  Matrimonial  Dtiet.  45 

no  doubt,  of  the  two  exotics,  he  should  have  preferred  the 
most  innocent ! 

The  grand  duet  of  Miithel  was  now  called  for,  and 
played  ;  but  I  can  tell  you  nothing  extra  of  the  admira- 
tion it  excited.  Your  Hettina  looked  remarkably  pretty  ; 
and,  added  to  the  applause  given  to  the  music,  everybody 
had  something  to  observe  upon  the  singularity  of  the 
performers  being  husband  and  wife.  Prince  Orloff  was 
witty  quite  to  facetiousness  ;  sarcastically  marking  some- 
thing beyond  what  he  said,  by  a  certain  ogling,  half- 
cynical,  half-amorous  cast  of  his  eyes  ;  and  declaring  he 
should  take  care  to  initiate  all  the  foreign  academies  of 
natural  philosophy  in  the  secret  of  the  harmony  that 
might  be  produced  by  such  nuptial  concord. 

The  Russian  nobleman  who  accompanied  Prince  Orloff, 
and  who  knew  English,  they  told  us,  so  well  that  he  was 
the  best  interpreter  for  his  Highness  in  his  visits,  gave  us 
now  a  specimen  of  his  proficiency  ;  for,  clapping  his  fore- 
finger upon  a  superfine  snuff-box,  he  exclaimed,  when  the 
duet  was  finished,  '  Ma  foi,  dis  is  so  pretty  as  never  I  hear 
in  my  life  !' 

General  Bawr  also,  to  whom  Mr.  Harris  directed  my 
attention,  was  greatly  charmed.  He  is  tall,  and  of  stern 
and  martial  aspect.  '  He  is  a  man,'  said  Mr.  Harris, 
'  to  be  looked  at,  from  his  courage,  conduct,  and  success 
during  the  last  Russian  war  ;  when,  though  a  Hessian  by 
birth,  he  was  a  lieutenant-general  in  the  service  of  the 
Empress  of  Russia,  and  obtained  the  two  military  stars, 
which  you  now  see  him  wear  on  each  side,  by  his 
valour!' 

Then  followed,  to  vary  the  entertainment,  singing  by 
Mrs.  Brudenel. 

Prince  Orloff  inquired  very  particularly  of  Dr.  King 
who  we  four  young  female  Burneys  were ;  for  we  were  all 


46  The  Emp7'ess  s  Miniature. 

dressed  alike,  on  account  of  our  mourning  ;  and  when 
Dr.  King  answered,  '  Dr.  Burney's  daughters,'  he  was 
quite  astonished,  for  he  had  not  thought  our  dear  father, 
he  said,  more  than  thirty  years  of  age,  if  so  much. 

Mr.  Harris,  in  a  whisper,  told  me  he  wished  some  of 
the  ladies  would  desire  to  see  the  miniature  of  the 
Empress  a  little  nearer  ;  the  monstrous  height  of  the 
Prince  putting  it  quite  out  of  view  to  his  old  eyes  and 
short  figure  ;  and  being  a  man,  he  could  not,  he  said, 
presume  to  ask  such  an  indulgence  as  that  of  holding  it 
in  his  own  hands.  Delighted  to  do  anything  for  this 
excellent  Mr.  Harris,  and  quite  at  my  ease  with  poor 
prosing  Dr.  King,  I  told  him  the  wish  of  Mr.  Harris. 
Dr.  King  whispered  the  desire  to  M.  de  Demidoff ;  M.  de 
Demidoff  did  the  same  to  General  de  Bawr  ;  and  General 
de  Bawr  dauntlessly  made  the  petition  to  the  Prince,  in 
the  name  of  The  Ladies. 

The  Prince  laughed,  rather  sardonically  ;  yet  with 
ready  good  humour  complied,  telling  the  General,  pretty 
much  sails  cerenionic,  to  untie  the  ribbon  round  his  neck, 
and  give  the  picture  into  the  possession  of  The  Ladies. 

He  was  very  gallant  and  debonnaire  upon  the  occa- 
sion, entreating  they  would  by  no  means  hurry  themselves  ; 
yet  his  smile,  as  his  eye  sharply  followed  the  progress 
from  hand  to  hand  of  the  miniature,  had  a  suspicious  cast 
of  investigating  whether  it  would  be  worth  his  while  to 
ask  any  favour  of  them  in  return!  and  through  all  the 
superb  magnificence  of  his  display  of  courtly  manners,  a 
little  bit  of  the  Cossack,  methought,  broke  out,  when  he 
desired  to  know  whether  The  Ladies  wished  for  an\  thing 
else — declaring,  with  a  smiling  bow,  and  rolHng,  languish- 
ing, yet  half-contemptuous  eyes,  that,  if  The  Ladies  would 
issue  their  commands,  they  should  strip  him  entirely  ! 

You  may  suppose,  after  that,  nobody  asked  for  a  closer 


The  Empress  s  Miniature.  47 

view  of  any  more  of  his  ornaments  !  The  good,  vet 
unaffectedly  humorous  philosopher  of  Salisbur}'  could  not 
help  laughing,  even  while  actually  blushing  at  it,  that  his 
own  curiosity  should  have  involved  The  Ladies  in  this 
supercilious  sort  of  sarcastic  homage. 

There  was  hardly  any  looking  at  the  picture  of  the 
Empress  for  the  glare  of  the  diamonds.  One  of  them,  I 
really  believe,  was  as  big  as  a  nutmeg ;  though  I  am 
somewhat  ashamed  to  undignify  my  subject  by  so  culinar}' 
a  comparison. 

When  we  were  all  satisfied,  the  miniature  was  restored 
by  General  Bawr  to  the  Prince,  who  took  it  with  stately 
complacency  ;  condescendingly  making  a  smiling  bow  to 
each  fair  female  who  had  had  possession  of  it,  and  receiv- 
ing from  her  in  return  a  lowly  courtesw 

Mr.  Harris,  who  was  the  most  curious  to  see  the 
Empress,  because  his  son.  Sir  James,^'  was.  or  is  intended 
to  be,  Minister  at  her  Court,  had  slyh'  looked  over  every 
shoulder  that  held  her  :  but  would  not  venture,  he  archlv 
whispered,  to  take  the  picture  in  his  own  hands,  lest  he 
should  be  included  by  the  Prince  amongst  The  Ladies,  as 
an  old  woman  ! 

Have  )-ou  had  enough  of  this  concert,  m\-  dear  Mr. 
Crisp  ?  I  have  given  it  in  detail,  for  the  humour  of 
letting  you  see  how  absorbing  of  the  public  voice  is  La 
Gabrielli ;  and  also  for  describing  to  you  Prince  Orloff,  a 
man  who,  when  time  lets  out  facts,  and  drives  in  mys- 
teries, must  necessarily  make  a  considerable  figure,  good 
or  bad — but  certainly  not  indifferent — in  European  histor}-. 
Besides,  I  want  your  opinion  whether  there  is  not  an  odd 
and  striking  resemblance  in  general  manners,  as  well  as 
in  herculean  strength  and  height,  in  this  Siberian  Prince 
and  his  Abyssinian  Majesty?"' 

*  Afterwards  Lord  Malniesbury. 


48  Jeniiiiy   Twitcher. 

On  another  musical  evening,  of  which  Fanny  wrote  an 
account,  there  were  present  :  the  French  Ambassador,  the 
Count  de  Guignes,  at  whose  request  the  concert  was 
given  ;  the  Danish  Ambassador,  Baron  Deiden,  and  his 
wife ;  the  Groom  of  the  Stole,  Lord  Ashburnham,  '  with 
his  gold  key  dangling  from  his  pocket ;'  Lord  Harrington 
from  the  War  Office,  and  Lord  Sandwich,  First  Lord  of 
the  Admiralty.  Of  this  last,  the  boon-companion  and 
denouncer*  of  Wilkes,  Miss  Fanny  naively  asks,  "  I  want 
to  know  why  he  is  called  Jemmy  Twitcher  in  the  news- 
papers ?     Do  pray  tell  me  that," 

Very  seldom,  in  these  latter  days,  does  any  private 
carriage,  with  or  without  a  coronet  on  its  panels,  turn 
into  the  decayed  thoroughfare  running  down  from  the 
bottom  of  Leicester  Square,  '  Vulgarly-peopled,'  accord- 
ing to  Madame  d'Arblay,  even  in  her  father's  time,  St. 
Martin's  Street  has  since  fallen  many  degrees  lower  yet. 
The  house  to  which  the  fashionable  world  was  drawn  by 
the  charms  of  Burney's  music  stands  on  the  east  side, 
immediately  above  the  chapel  at  the  corner  of  Orange 
Street.  The  glass  observatory  which  Dr.  Burney  re- 
paired, and  which  he  subsequently  rebuilt  when  it  was 
blown  away  by  a  gale  of  wind,  has  long  since  disappeared. 
It  was  replaced  by  a  wooden-f-  erection,  or  what  Macaulay 

*  We  need  scarcely  remind  our  readers  that,  in  1763,  Sandwich  had  de- 
nounced Wilkes  in  the  House  of  Lords  for  having  composed  and  printed  the 
'  Essay  on  Woman,'  an  indecent  parody  on  Pope's  '  Essay  on  Man.'  Society 
resented  the  attack,  placing  the  accuser  and  accused  on  a  par  in  point  of  morals. 
'  The  pul)lic  indignation  went  so  far,  that  the  Bii^gars  Opera  being  performed 
at  Covent  Garden  Theatre  soon  after  this  event,  the  whole  audience,  when 
Machcath  says,  "That  Jemmy  Twitcher  should  peach,  I  own  surprises  nie," 
burst  out  into  an  applause  of  application,  and  the  nickname  of  "Jemmy 
Twitcher"  stuck  by  the  Earl  so  as  almost  to  occasion  the  disuse  of  his  title.'— 
Walpole's  '  Memoirs  of  George  III.,'  vol.  i.,  p.  313. 

t  The  observatory  in  its  later  form  is  stated  to  have  been  put  up  in  the  early 
years  of  the  present  century,  by  a  Frenchman,  then  tenant  of  the  house,  who 
placed  in  it  some  mathematical  instruments,  which  he  exhibited  as  the  identical 
instruments  with  which  the  grent  Newton  made  Ids  discoveries  ;  anil  we  are  told 
that  this  ingenious  ]^erson  realized  a  considerable  sum  before  his  imposture  was 
exposed.  See  'The  Streets  of  London,'  by  J.  T.  Smith,  edited  by  Charles 
Mackay,  1S49,  p.  76. 


Present  State  of  St.  Martiiis  Street.         49 

calls  '  a  square  turret,'  which,  when  the  essayist  wrote, 
distinguished  the  house  from  all  the  surrounding  buildings. 
This  erection  also  has  been  removed,  but  the  house  itself 
cannot  be  mistaken  by  any  passer-by  who  cares  to  see  it. 
A  tablet  on  the  front  bears  the  inscription  :  '  Sir  Isaac 
Newton,  philosopher,  lived  here.'  The  house  is  at 
present  the  quarters  of  the  United  Service  Warrant 
Officers'  Club.  No  great  effort  is  required  to  imagine  the 
plain,  silent  Newton  passing  in  and  out  of  that  slender 
doorway.  The  movements  of  the  man  qui  genus  humaniim 
ingenio  superavit  were  without  noise  and  ostentation.  We 
may  let  half  a  century  go  by  in  thought,  and  with  equal 
ease  picture  to  ourselves  David  Garrick  tripping  up  the 
steps  before  breakfast ;  Samuel  Johnson  rolling  up  them  for 
a  call,  on  his  way  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Montagu  ;  pleasant 
Dr.  Burney  briskly  setting  out  on  his  daily  round  of  lessons ; 
and  demure  Miss  Fanny  sallying  forth  to  seek  an  inter- 
view incognita  with  her  publisher.  But  how  call  up  the 
scene,  when  the  lacqueys  of  Count  Orloff — Orloff  the  Big^ 
Walpole  calls  him — thundered  at  the  knocker,  or  when 
officers  of  the  Household,  displaying  the  ensigns  of  their 
rank,  peers  with  stars  and  orders,  and  great  ladies  arrayed 
in  brocaded  silks  and  immense  head-dresses,  followed  one 
another  up  a  confined  staircase*  into  a  couple  of  small 
and  crowded  reception-rooms  ?  Standing  opposite  to  the 
club  where  our  gallant  petty  officers  of  to-day  congregated 
and  noticing  that  to  the  left  of  it,  on  the  other  side  of 
Long's  Court,  there  is  now  a  cheap  lodging-house  for 
working  men,  and  that  a  little  further  to  the  left,  at  the 
entrance  from  the  Square,  the  roadway  narrows,  as  we 

*  There  is  some  account  both  of  the  inside  and  outside  of  Newton's  house 
in  the  GentUmaii  s  Magazine  for  1814.  At  that  date,  we  learn  among  other 
things,  the  original  chimney-piece  in  the  observatory  remained,  though  the  room 
itself  had  uncTergone  a  change.  The  house  appears  to  have  been  built  about 
1692. 

4 


50  Mr.  and  Mrs.    Thrale. 

learn  from  the  "  Memoirs  "  that  it  did  in  Burney's  time,  till 
there  is  barely  room  for  a  single  vehicle  of  moderate  size 
to  pass,  we  recognise  the  limitations  of  the  human  fancy. 
It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  a  great  aristocratic  crowd 
assembling  in  such  a  place.  We  can  understand  the 
pride  with  which  Fanny  set  down  the  prolonged  rat-tat- 
tat-tat-too  that  announced  the  arrival  of  each  titled  and 
decorated  visitor.  We  may  observe  the  pains  she  took 
to  draw  and  colour  for  her  country  correspondent  groups 
of  dazzling  figures  such  as  had  never  been  seen  in  the 
more  spacious  area  of  Queen  Square.  But  they  are 
gone,  and  in  presence  of  the  dirt  and  squalor  which  have 
made  St.  Martin's  Street  little  better  than  an  East-End 
slum,  their  shadows  will  not  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the 
moon.     Sic  transit  gloria  mundi. 

Somewhat  later,  Dr.  Burney  formed  a  new  connection 
which  had  an  important  influence  on  the  life  of  his  second 
daughter.  He  was  invited  to  Streatham  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thrale  to  give  lessons  in  music  to  their  eldest  daughter, 
familiarly  called  Queeny,  who  afterwards  became  Vis- 
countess Keith.  There,  besides  winning  the  regard  of  the 
Thrales,  he  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Johnson, 
to  whom  he  had  made  himself  known  by  letter  twenty-two 
years  before.  Johnson,  who  had  no  ear,  despised  music, 
and  was  wont  to  speak  slightingly  of  its  professors,  but  he 
conceived  a  strong  liking  for  Burney.  In  bringing  out 
the  '  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,'  the  author  confessed  that 
he  had  kept  his  friend's  Musical  Tours  in  view.  At  this 
time,  Richard,  the  youngest  son  of  Dr.  Burney,  born  of 
his  second  marriage,  was  preparing  for  Winchester 
School,  whither  his  father  proposed  conveying  him  in 
person.  Johnson,  who  was  a  friend  of  Dr.  Warton,  the 
headmaster,  volunteered  to  accompany  them,  and  intro- 
duce the  new  pupil.     This  joint  expedition  of  Johnson  and 


Visit  of  the   Thrales  and  Johnson.  5 1 

Burney  was  followed  by  a  similar  one  to  Oxford,  and 
their  intercourse  became  so  cordial  that  Mrs.  Thrale  and 
Johnson  arranged  to  meet  in  St.  Martin's  Street,  there  to 
make  acquaintance  with  Burney's  family,  to  look  over  his 
library,  and  to  see  Newton's  house.  Fanny,  who  had  just 
come  up  from  Chesington,  wrote  an  account  of  this  visit 
to  her  daddy  : 

"  My  dearest  Mr.  Crisp, 

My  father  seemed  well  pleased  at  my  returning  to 
my  time ;  so  that  is  no  small  consolation  and  pleasure  to 
me  for  the  pain  of  quitting  you.  So  now  to  our  Thursday 
morning  and  Dr.  Johnson,  according  to  my  promise. 

We  were  all — by  we,  I  mean  Suzette,  Charlotte,  and  I 
— for  my  mother  had  seen  him  before,  as  had  my  sister 
Burney ;  but  we  three  were  all  in  a  twitter  from  violent 
expectation  and  curiosity  for  the  sight  of  this  monarch  of 
books  and  authors. 

Mrs.  and  Miss  Thrale,  Miss  Owen,  and  Mr.  Seward,* 
came  long  before  Lexiphanes.  Mrs.  Thrale  is  a  pretty 
woman  still,  though  she  has  some  defect  in  the  mouth 
that  looks  like  a  cut  or  scar ;  but  her  nose  is  very  hand- 
some, her  complexion  very  fair  ;  she  has  the  embonpoint 
channanf,  and  her  eyes  are  blue  and  lustrous.  She  is 
extremely  lively  and  chatty,  and  showed  none  of  the 
supercilious  or  pedantic  airs  so  freely,  or  rather  so 
scoffingly,  attributed  by  you  envious  lords  of  the  creation 
to  women  of  learning  or  celebrity  ;  on  the  contrary,  she 
is  full  of  sport,  remarkably  gay,  and  excessively  agree- 
able. I  liked  her  in  everything  except  her  entrance  into 
the  room,  which  was  rather  florid  and  flourishing,  as  who 
should  say,  '  It's  I  ! — no  less  a  person  than  Mrs.  Thrale  !' 
However,  all  that  ostentation  wore  out  in  the  course  of 

*  William     Seward,    afterwards    author    of    '  Anecdotes    of   Distinguished 
Person.--,'  and  '  Biographiana,'  a  sequel  to  the  same. 


52  Visit  of  the    Thrales  and  Johnson. 

the  visit,  which  lasted  the  whole  morning  ;  and  you  could 
not  have  helped  liking  her,  she  is  so  very  entertaining — 
though  not  simple  enough,  I  believe,  for  quite  winning 
your  heart  .... 

The  conversation  was  supported  with  a  great  deal  of 
vivacity,  as  usual  when  il  Signor  Padrone  is  at  home ; 
but  I  can  write  30U  none  of  it,  as  I  was  still  in  the  same 
twitter,  twitter,  twitter,  I  have  acknowledged,  to  see  Dr. 
Johnson.  Nothing  could  have  heightened  my  impatience 
— unless  Pope  could  have  been  brought  to  life  again — or, 
perhaps,  Shakespeare  ! 

This  confab  was  broken  up  b}^  a  duet  between  your 
Hettina  and,  for  the  first  time  to  company-listeners, 
Suzette  ;  who,  however,  escaped  much  fright,  for  she  soon 
found  she  had  no  musical  critics  to  encounter  in  Mrs. 
Thrale  and  Mr.  Seward,  or  Miss  Owen,  who  know  not  a 
flat  from  a  sharp,  nor  a  crotchet  from  a  quaver.  But 
every  knowledge  is  not  given  to  everybody — except  to  two 
gentle  wights  of  my  acquaintance  :  the  one  commonly 
hight  il  Padre,  and  the  other  il  Dadda.  Do  you  know 
any  such  sort  of  people,  sir  ?  Well,  in  the  midst  of  this 
performance,  and  before  the  second  movement  was  come 
to  a  close.  Dr.  Johnson  was  announced  ! 

Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Crisp,  if  you  like  a  description  of 
emotions  and  sensations — but  I  know  you  treat  them  all 
as  burlesque  ;  so  let's  proceed. 

EverN'body  rose  to  do  him  honour,  and  he  returned 
the  attention  with  the  most  formal  courtesy.  My  father 
then,  having  welcomed  him  with  the  warmest  respect, 
whispered  to  him  that  music  was  going  forward,  which 
he  would  not,  my  father  thinks,  have  found  out;  and, 
placing  him  on  the  best  seat  vacant,  told  his  daughters 
to  go  on  with  the  duet  ;  while  Dr.  Johnson,  intently 
rolling   towards    them    one    eye — for   they   say   he    does 


JK-^TjaWsorCVKfc 

'Z)r  Johnson . 


Appearance  of  Dr.  Johnson.  53 

not  see  with  the  other — made  a  grave  nod,  and  gave  a 
dignified  motion  with  one  hand,  in  silent  approvance  cf 
the  proceeding. 

But  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Crisp,  I  am  mortitied  to  own 
• — what  you,  who  always  smile  at  my  enthusiasm,  will  hear 
without  caring  a  straw  for — that  he  is,  indeed,  very  ill- 
favoured.  Yet  he  has  naturally  a  noble  figure;  tall,  stout, 
grand,  and  authoritative :  but  he  stoops  horribly ;  his 
back  is  quite  round  :  his  mouth  is  continually  opening 
and  shutting,  as  if  he  were  chewing  something ;  he  has  a 
singular  method  of  twirling  his  fingers,  and  twisting  his 
hands:  his  vast  body  is  in  constant  agitation,  see-sawing 
backwards  and  forwards  :  his  feet  are  never  a  moment 
quiet ;  and  his  whole  person  looked  olten  as  if  it  were  going 
to  roll  itself,  quite  voluntarily,  from  his  chair  to  the  floor. 

Since  such  is  his  appearance  to  a  person  so  prejudiced 
in  his  favour  as  I  am,  how  I  must  more  than  ever 
reverence  his  abilities,  when  I  tell  you  that,  upon  asking 
my  father  why  he  had  not  prepared  us  for  such  uncouth, 
untoward  strangeness,  he  laughed  heartily,  and  said  he 
had  entirely  forgotten  that  the  same  impression  had  been, 
at  first,  made  upon  himself,  but  had  been  lost  even  on 
the  second  interview— how  I  long  to  see  him  again,  to 
lose  it,  too ! — for  knowing  the  value  of  what  would  come 
out  when  he  spoke,  he  ceased  to  observe  the  defects  that 
were  out  while  he  was  silent. 

But  you  always  charge  me  to  write  without  reserve  or 
reservation,  and  so  I  obey,  as  usual.  Else,  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  having  remarked  such  exterior 
blemishes  m  so  exalted  a  character. 

His  dress,  considering  the  times,  and  that  he  had 
meant  to  put  on  all  his  best  bccunies  —  for  he  was  engaged 
to  dine  with  a  very  fine  party  at  Mrs.  Montagu's — was  as 
much  out  of  the  common  road  as  his  figure.     He  had  a 


54  Appearance  of  Dr.  Jo/msoii. 

large,  full,  bushy  wig,  a  snuff-colour  coat,  with  gold 
buttons  (or,  peradventure,  brass),  but  no  ruffles  to  his 
doughty  fists ;  and  not,  I  suppose,  to  be  taken  for  a  Blue, 
though  going  to  the  Blue  Queen,  he  had  on  very  coarse 
black  worsted  stockings. 

He  is  shockingly  near-sighted ;  a  thousand  times  more 
so  than  either  my  Padre  or  myself.  He  did  not  even 
know  Mrs.  Thrale,  till  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  which 
she  did  very  engagingly.  After  the  first  few  minutes,  he 
drew  his  chair  close  to  the  pianoforte,  and  then  bent  down 
his  nose  quite  over  the  keys,  to  examine  them,  and  the 
four  hands  at  work  upon  them  ;  till  poor  Hetty  and  Susan 
hardly  knew  how  to  play  on,  for  fear  of  touching  his  phiz ; 
or,  which  was  harder  still,  how  to  keep  their  countenances; 
and  the  less,  as  Mr.  Seward,  who  seems  to  be  very  droll  and 
shrewd,  and  was  much  diverted,  ogled  them  slyly,  with  a 
provoking  expression  of  arch  enjoyment  of  their  appre- 
hensions. 

When  the  duet  was  finished,  my  father  mlroduced 
your  Hettina  to  him,  as  an  old  acquaintance,  to  whom, 
when  she  was  a  little  girl,  he  had  presented  his  Idler. 

His  answer  to  this  was  imprinting  on  her  pretty  face — 
not  a  half  touch  of  a  courtly  salute — but  a  good,  real,  sub- 
stantial, and  very  loud  kiss. 

Everybody  was  obliged  to  stroke  their  chins,  that  they 
might  hide  their  mouths. 

Beyond  this  chaste  embrace,  his  attention  was  not  to 
be  drawn  off  two  minutes  longer  from  the  books,  to  which 
he  now  strided  his  way ;  for  we  had  left  the  drawing- 
room  for  the  library,  on  account  of  the  pianoforte.  He 
pored  over  them,  shelf  by  shelf,  almost  brushing  them 
with  his  eyelashes  from  near  examination.  At  last,  fixing 
upon  something  that  happened  to  hit  his  fancy,  he  took  it 
down  ;  and,  standing  aloof  from  the  company,  which  he 


Johnsons  Conversation.  55 

seemed  clean  and  clear  to  forget,  he  began,  without  further 
ceremony,  and  very  composedly,  to  read  to  himself;  and 
as  intently  as  if  he  had  been  alone  in  his  own  study. 

We  were  all  excessively  provoked :  for  we  were  lan- 
guishing, fretting,  expiring  to  hear  him  talk — not  to  see 
him  read  !     What  could  that  do  for  us  ? 

My  sister  then  played  another  duet,  accompanied  by 
my  father,  to  which  Miss  Thrale  seemed  very  attentive ;  and 
all  the  rest  quietly  resigned.  But  Dr.  Johnson  had  opened 
a  volume  of  the  British  Encyclopaedia,  and  was  so  deeply 
engaged,  that  the  music,  probably,  never  reached  his  ears. 

When  it  was  over,  Mrs.  Thrale,  in  a  laughing  manner, 
said :  '  Pray,  Dr.  Burney,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me 
what  that  song  was,  and  whose,  which  Savoi  sang  last 
night  at  Bach's*  concert,  and  which  you  did  not  hear?' 

My  father  confessed  himself  by  no  means  so  able  a 
diviner,  not  having  had  time  to  consult  the  stars,  though 
he  lived  in  the  house  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.  But,  anxious 
to  draw  Dr.  Johnson  into  conversation,  he  ventured  to 
interrupt  him  with  Mrs.  Thrale's  conjuring  request  rela- 
tive to  Bach's  concert. 

The  Doctor,  comprehending  his  drift,  good-naturedly 
put  away  his  book,  and,  see-sawing,  with  a  very  humorous 
smile,  drolly  repeated:  'Bach,  sir?  —  Bach's  concert? 
And  pray,  sir,  who  is  Bach  ?     Is  he  a  piper  ?' 

You  may  imagine  what  exclamations  followed  such  a 
question. 

Mrs.  Thrale  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  nature  of 
the  concert,  and  the  fame  of  Mr.  Bach,  and  the  many 
charming  performances  she  had  heard,  with  all  their 
varieties,  in  his  rooms. 

When  there  was  a  pause,  '  Pray,  madam,'  said  he,  with 
the  calmest  gravity,  '  what  is  the  expense  for  all  this  ?' 

*John  Christian   Bach,  sometimes  called  Bach  of  Berlin,  who  for  many 
years  was  established  in  England. 


56  His  Contempt  for  Music. 

'  Oh,'  answered  she,  '  the  expense  is  much  trouble  and 
solicitation  to  obtain  a  subscriber's  ticket — or  else,  half  a 
guinea !' 

'  Trouble  and  solicitation,'  he  replied,  '  I  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with ;  but,  if  it  be  so  fine,  I  would  be 
willing  to  give ' — he  hesitated,  and  then  finished  with — 
'  eighteen-pence.' 

Ha  !  ha  !  Chocolate  being  then  brought,  we  returned 
to  the  drawing-room  ;  and  Dr.  Johnson,  when  drawn 
away  from  the  books,  freely,  and  with  social  good-humour, 
gave  himself  up  to  conversation. 

The  intended  dinner  of  Mrs.  Montagu  being  men- 
tioned. Dr.  Johnson  laughingly  told  us  that  he  had 
received  the  most  flattering  note  that  he  had  ever  read, 
or  that  anybody  else  had  ever  read,  of  invitation  from 
that  lady. 

'So  have  I,  too!'  cried  Mrs.  Thrale.  'So,  if  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Montagu  is  to  be  boasted  of,  I  beg  mine  may 
not  be  forgotten.' 

'Your  note,  madam,'  cried  Dr.  Johnson,  smiling,  'can 
bear  no  comparison  with  mine ;  for  I  am  at  the  head 
of  all  the  philosophers — she  says.' 

'And  I,'  returned  Mrs.  Thrale,  'have  all  the  Muses  in 
my  train.' 

'A  fair  battle!'  cried  my  father.  'Come,  compliment 
for  compliment,  and  see  who  will  hold  out  longest !' 

'  I  am  afraid  for  Mrs.  Thrale,'  said  Mr.  Seward  ; 
'  for  I  know  that  Mrs.  Montagu  exerts  all  her  forces 
when  she  sings  the  praises  of  Dr.  Johnson.' 

'  Oh  yes,'  cried  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  she  has  often  praised 
him  till  he  has  been  ready  to  faint.' 

'Well,'  said  my  father,  'you  two  ladies  must  get  him 
fairly  between  you  to-day,  and  see  which  can  lay  on  the 
'pa'iht  the  thickest — Mrs.  Montagu  or  Mrs.  Thrale.' 


Meeting,  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Mr.   Gixville.       57 

*  I  had  rather,'  said  the  Doctor  very  composedly,  '  go 
to  Bach's  concert  !'  " 

Not  long  after  the  morning  call  described  in  our  last 
extract,  Johnson  spent  an  evening  in  St.  Martin's  Street, 
for  the  purpose  of  being  introduced  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Greville.  The  Doctor  came  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale. 
Signor  Piozzi  was  there,  invited  to  amuse  the  company 
by  his  musical  skill.  But  the  account  of  the  second  visit 
reads  much  less  pleasantly  than  that  of  the  first.  This  is 
due  in  great  part  to  the  different  behaviour  of  the  prin- 
cipal guests.  Burney's  old  patron,  Greville,  had  for  years 
been  going  steadily  down  hill,  through  indulgence  in  play 
and  other  extravagances.  The  loss  of  his  fortune,  per- 
haps, inclined  him  to  assert  more  stiffly  the  claims  of  his 
rank.  At  any  rate,  in  presence  of  the  Thrales  and  John- 
son, he  thought  it  necessary  to  appear  superior  to  the 
brewer's  wealth  and  the  author's  fame,  Johnson  seems 
to  have  only  half  perceived  his  disdain  ;  but  the  Doctor 
was  not  in  a  mood  for  talking,  and  Greville  made  no  at- 
tempt to  draw  him  out.  Nor  are  the  actors  only  changed 
on  this  subsequent  occasion  ;  the  narrator  is  changed 
also.  Instead  of  a  letter  by  Fanny  Burney,  dashed  off  in 
the  hey-day  of  youth  and  spirits,  we  have  a  formal  ac- 
count by  her  later  self,  Madame  d'Arblay,  composed  in 
the  peculiar  style  which  makes  a  great  part  of  the  '  Me- 
moirs '  such  difficult  reading.  However,  as  this  account 
records  Mrs.  Thrale's  first  meeting  with  the  man  who 
was  destined  to  exercise  a  fatal  influence  on  her  after-life, 
we  give  a  portion  of  it  here  : 

"  Mrs.  Thrale,  of  the  whole  coterie,  was  alone  at  her 
ease.  She  feared  not  Dr.  Johnson  ;  for  fear  made  no  part 
of  her  composition ;    and   with    Mrs.  Greville,   as  a  fair 


58  Mrs.   Thrale  Defiant. 

rival  genius,  she  would  have  been  glad,  from  curiosity,  to 
have  had  the  honour  of  a  little  tilt,  in  full  carelessness  of 
its  event ;  for  though  triumphant  when  victorious,  she 
had  spirits  so  volatile,  and  such  utter  exemption  from 
envy  or  spleen,  that  she  was  gaily  free  from  mortification 
when  vanquished.  But  she  knew  the  meeting  to  have 
been  fabricated  for  Dr.  Johnson,  and,  therefore,  though 
not  without  difficulty,  constrained  herself  to  be  passive. 

"  When,  however,  she  observed  the  sardonic  disposition 
of  Mr.  Greville  to  stare  around  him  at  the  whole  company 
in  curious  silence,  she  felt  a  defiance  against  his  aristoc- 
racy beat  in  every  pulse  ;  for,  however  grandly  he  might 
look  back  to  the  long  ancestry  of  the  Brookes  and  the 
Grevilles,  she  had  a  glowing  consciousness  that  her  own 
blood,  rapid  and  fluent,  flowed  in  her  veins  from  Adam  of 
Saltsburg;^  and,  at  length,  provoked  by  the  dulness  of  a 
taciturnity  that,  in  the  midst  of  such  renowned  inter- 
locutors, produced  as  narcotic  a  torpor  as  could  have 
been  caused  by  a  dearth  the  most  barren  of  human 
faculties,  she  grew  tired  of  the  music,  and  yet  more 
tired  of  remaining,  what  as  little  suited  her  inclinations 
as  her  abilities,  a  mere  cipher  in  the  company  ;  and, 
holding  such  a  position,  and  all  its  concomitants,  to  be 
ridiculous,  her  spirits  rose  rebelliously  above  her  control, 
and,  in  a  fit  of  utter  recklessness  of  what  might  be  thought 
of  her  by  her  fine  new  acquaintance,  she  suddenly  but 
softly  arose,  and  stealing  on  tip-toe  behind  Signor  Piozzi, 
who  was  accompanying  himself  on  the  pianoforte  to  an 
animated  aria  parlanic,  with  his  back  to  the  company, 
and  his  face  to  the  wall,  she  ludicrously  began  imitating 
him  by  squaring  her  elbows,  elevating  them  with  ecstatic 
shrugs  of  the  shoulders,  and  casting  up  her  eyes,  while 

*  Hester  Lynch  Salusbury  (Mrs.  Thrale)  claimed  to  be  hneally  ilescended 
from  Adam  of  Saltsburg,  who  came  over  to  England  with  the  Conqueror. 


Signor  Piozzi.  59 

languishingly  reclining  her  head,  as  if  she  were  not  less 
enthusiastically,  though  somewhat  more  suddenly,  struck 
with  the  transports  of  harmony  than  himself. 

"This  grotesque  ebullition  of  ungovernable  gaiety  was 
not  perceived  by  Dr.  Johnson,  who  faced  the  fire,  with 
his  back  to  the  performer  and  the  instrument.  But  the 
amusement  which  such  an  unlooked-for  exhibition  caused 
to  the  party  was  momentary  ;  for  Dr.  Burney,  shocked 
lest  the  poor  Signor  should  observe,  and  be  hurt  by  this 
mimicry,  glided  gently  round  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  and,  with 
something  between  pleasantry  and  severity,  whispered  to 
her,  '  Because,  madam,  you  have  no  ear  yourself  for 
music,  will  you  destroy  the  attention  of  all  who,  in  that 
one  point,  are  otherwise  gifted?' 

"  It  was  now  that  shone  the  brightest  attribute  of  Mrs. 
Thrale,  sweetness  of  temper.  She  took  this  rebuke  with  a 
candour,  and  a  sense  of  its  justice  the  most  amiable;  she 
nodded  her  approbation  of  the  admonition ;  and,  return- 
ing to  her  chair,  quietly  sat  down,  as  she  afterwards  said, 
like  a  pretty  little  miss,  for  the  remainder  of  one  of  the 
most  humdrum  evenings  that  she  had  ever  passed. 

"  Strange,  indeed,  strange  and  most  strange,  the  event 
considered,  was  this  opening  intercourse  between  Mrs. 
Thrale  and  Signor  Piozzi.  Little  could  she  imagine  that 
the  person  she  was  thus  called  away  from  holding  up  to 
ridicule,  would  become,  but  a  few  years  afterwards,  the 
idol  of  her  fancy,  and  the  lord  of  her  destiny  !  And  little 
did  the  company  present  imagine,  that  this  burlesque 
scene  was  but  the  first  of  a  drama  the  most  extraordinary 
of  real  life,  of  which  these  two  persons  were  to  be  the 
hero  and  heroine ;  though,  when  the  catastrophe  was 
known,  this  incident,  witnessed  by  so  many,  was  recol- 
lected and  repeated  from  coterie  to  coterie  throughout 
London,  with  comments  and  sarcasms  of  endless  variety." 


CHAPTER  III. 

'  Evelina  '  —  Date  of  its  Composition — Negotiations  with  Publishers — Dr. 
Burney's  Consent — Publication — Illness  of  ihe  Author — Visit  to  Chesington 
—  Her  Father  reads  the  Book — Mrs.  Thrale  and  Mrs.  Cholmondeley — 
Exciting  News — Fanny's  Success — Nancy  Dawson— The  Secret  told  to  Mr. 
Crisp- — Characters  in  '  Evelina ' — Dinner  at  Streatham — Dr.  Johnson — David 
Garrick — The  Unclubhaule  Man — Curiosity  as  to  Auihorshipof  '  Evelina  ' — 
The  Bookseller  in  the  Dark— Visits  to  the  Thrales— Table  Talk— Mr.  Smith 
— Goldsmith— Johnson  and  the  Scotch — Civil  for  Four — Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
— Mrs.  Montagu — Boswell — The  Branghtons — Mrs.  Cholmondeley — Talk 
with- Sir  Jo>hua— Is  it  True? — .Mrs.  Cholmondeley 's  Whimsical  Manner — 
Visit  to  her  House  — Mr.  Cumberland— A  Hint  for  a  Comedy — A  Charmed 
Circle— Sheridan — Not  a  Fair  Question— Pressed  to  Write  for  the  Stage — 
Flattered  by  Compliments. 

We  now  approach  the  time  when  the  '  Historv  of  Evehna ' 
was  given  to  the  world.  There  has  been  much  futile  con- 
troversy as  to  the  date  at  which  this  novel  was  composed. 
As  the  author  was  unquestionably  half-way  between  twenty- 
five  and  twenty-six  when  her  first  book  was  published,  it 
has  been  inferred  that  she  was  not  much  below  that  age 
when  she  began  the  story.  This  inference  was  put  in  sharp 
contrast  with  a  current  report — which  cannot  be  traced 
to  Frances  Burney  or  her  family  —  that  she  wrote 
*  Evelina '  at  seventeen.  Her  enemy  Croker  went  so 
far  as  to  suggest  that  she  represented  herself  to  have 
been  ten  years  younger  than  she  really  was  at  the  period 
of  the  publication.*     But  if  we  may  trust   Mrs.  Barrett, 

*  '  There  was  no  want  of  low  minds  and  bad  hearts  in  the  generation  which 
witnessed  her  first  appearance.  '1  here  was  the  envious  Kenrick  and  the  savage 
Wolcot,  the  asp  George  Slecvens  and  tiie  polecat  Juhn  Williams.  It  did  not, 
however,  occur  to  them  to  scarcii  ihe  parish  register  of  Lynn,  in  order  liiat  they 
might  he  able  to  twit  a  lady  with  havmg  conceaieil  her  age.  '1  hat  truly  chival- 
rous exploit  was  reseived  for  a  bad  writer  of  our  own  time,  whose  spite  .she 


Date  of  the  Composition  of  'Evelina!         6i 

who  had  not  only  the  '  Memoirs,'  but  Fanny's  early  and 
still  unpublished  journals  to  guide  her,  the  author  herself 
would  have  been  puzzled  to  say  exactly  when  her  tale 
was  written.  It  was  planned  in  girlhood,  worked  at  by 
snatches,  and  occupied  long  years  in  growing  up.  The 
idea  of  seeing  it  in  print  seems  to  have  been  conceived  in 
1776,  shortly  after  the  appearance  of  the  first  volume  of 
her  father's  History,  and  we  are  distinctly  told  b}'  Madame 
d'Arblay  and  her  biographer,  that  there  was  alread}-  a 
manuscript  in  existence.  We  gather,  however,  that  this 
manuscript  was  imperfect  ;  and  it  would  manifestly  be 
presuming  too  much  to  suppose  that  its  contents  remained 
unaltered,  and  unimproved,  in  the  transcript  which  the 
writer  proceeded  to  make  before  taking  an}-  other  step. 

Though  stimulated  by  her  father's  success,  and  en- 
couraged by  her  sisters,  whom  she  took  into  her  con- 
fidence, Fanny  was,  nevertheless,  determined  that,  in 
bringing  forward  her  work,  she  would  keep  its  authorship 
unknown.  She  therefore  copied  out  her  manuscript  in 
a  feigned  upright  hand,  in  order  to  guard  against  the 
possibility  of  her  ordinar}-  writing  being  recognised  by 
some  one  who  had  seen  the  numerous  pages  of  the 
paternal  books  which  she  had  transcribed  for  the  printer. 
Tiring  of  her  irksome  task  when  she  had  accomplished 
enough  to  fill  two  volumes,  she  wrote  a  letter,  without 
signature,  to  be  sent  to  some  bookseller,  offering  the 
fairly-copied  portion  for  immediate  publication,  and  pro- 
had  provoked  by  not  furnishing  him  with  materials  for  a  worthless  edition  of 
Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  some  sheets  of  which  our  readers  have  doubtless 
seen  round  parcels  of  better  books.' — Macanlay  s  Essay.  This  passage  has 
been  often  quoted  and  admired.  Yet  is  not  such  writing  rather  too  much  in 
the  style  of  ^Ir.  Bludyer,  who,  the  reader  will  remember,  was  reproached  with 
mangling  his  victims?  Compare  Macaulay's  swashing  blow  wUh  the  deadly 
thrust  of  a  true  master  of  sarcasm.  '  Nobody  was  stronger  in  dates  than  Mr. 
Rigby  ;  .  .  .  detail  '.vas  Mr.  Righy's  forte  :  ...  it  was  tItoii;Itt  no  one  coithl 
lash  a  ivo7nan  like  Rigby.  Rigby's  statements  were  arranged  with  a  formidable 
array  of  dates — rarely  accurate.' — Coiiini;sl>y. 


62  Neg-otiations  with  Publishers. 


%!> 


mising  to  forward  the  rest  in  the  following  year.  This 
proposal  was  first  directed  to  Dodsley,  who,  in  answer, 
declined  to  look  at  anything  without  being  previously 
informed  of  the  author's  name.  Fanny  and  her  sisters, 
"  after  sitting  in  committee  on  this  lofty  reply,"  addressed 
another  offer,  in  like  terms,  to  Lowndes,  a  publisher  in 
Fleet  Street.  The  latter,  less  exacting  than  his  brother 
at  the  West-End,  desired  to  see  the  manuscript,  which — 
there  being  no  Parcels  Delivery  Company  in  those  days 
— was  convej^ed  to  him  by  young  Charles  Burney,  muffled 
up  by  his  sisters  to  make  him  look  older  than  he  was. 
Lowndes  read,  was  pleased,  and  declared  himself  willing 
to  purchase  and  print  the  work  when  finished,  but  he 
naturally  would  not  hear  of  publishing  an  unfinished 
novel.  Disappointed  at  this  second  rebuff,  the  impatient 
aspirant  gave  up  hope  ;  but,  her  spirits  reviving,  after  a 
time,  her  third  volume  was  completed  and  copied  before 
the  end  of  the  twelvemonth.  Meanwhile,  a  scruple  had 
arisen  in  her  mind.  Her  correspondence  with  Lowndes 
had  been  carried  on  without  her  father's  knowledge ;  the 
publisher's  letters  to  her  being  addressed  to  Mr.  Grafton, 
and  sent  to  the  Orange  Coffee  House,  in  Orange  Street. 
But  she  now  saw  it  to  be  her  duty  not  to  rush  into  print 
without  Dr.  Burne3''s  consent.  Availing  herself  of  a  pro- 
pitious moment,  when  he  was  bidding  her  good-bye  before 
setting  out  on  a  visit  to  Chesington,  she  confessed  to 
him,  with  many  blushes,  that  she  had  written  a  little 
book,  and  hoped  that  he  would  allow  her  to  publish  it  on 
condition  of  not  disclosing  her  name.  She  assured  him 
that  he  should  not  be  troubled  in  the  business,  which  her 
brother  Charles  would  manage  for  her,  and  only  begged 
further  that  he  would  not  himself  ask  to  sec  the  manuscript. 
The  Doctor  was  first  ama/ed,  then  amused,  and  final!}" 
bursting  into  a  lau;;h,  kissed  her,  and  bade  her  see  that 


Publication  of  '  Evelina!  6 


J 


Charles  was  discreet,  thus  tacitly  granting  her  petition. 
The  completed  work  was  now  forwarded  to  Lowndes, 
who  without  much  delay  accepted  it,  and  paid  the  author 
what  seemed  to  her  the  magnificent  sum  of  twenty  pounds 
for  the  copyright. 

Much  censure  has  been  thrown  on  Dr.  Burney  for  his 
conduct  in  this  transaction.  He  ought,  we  are  told,  to 
have  given  his  daughter  serious  counsel  as  to  the  perils  of 
authorship,  to  have  inquired  into  the  merits  of  her  pro- 
duction, and  to  have  seen  that  she  made  the  best  possible 
terms  with  the  bookseller.  '  Happih,'  says  Macaulay, 
'  his  inexcusable  neglect  of  duty  caused  her  no  worse  evil 
than  the  loss  of  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  pounds.'  We 
doubt  if  it  cost  her  the  twelfth  part  of  the  smaller  sum. 
It  is  most  unlikely,  we  think,  that  an  untried  and  anony- 
mous writer  could,  with  the  best  assistance,  have  com- 
manded a  hundred  pounds  for  a  first  attempt  at  fiction. 
We  are  not  concerned  to  defend  Dr.  Burney,  but  to  us 
he  seems  to  have  failed  less  in  carefulness  than  in  discern- 
ment. He  could  not  believe  his  ears  when  Frances  spoke 
of  having  a  book  ready  for  the  press.  He  looked  on  her 
scheme  of  publication  as  an  idle  fancy,  and  doubtless  was 
convinced  that  nothing  would  come  of  it.  Her  motive 
for  concealing  her  project  from  him  had  been  merely 
dread  of  his  ridicule.  Until  '  Evelina  '  became  an  assured 
success,  he  had  no  faith  in  the  ability  of  his  second 
daughter.  '  Poor  Fann}^ ' — so  he  used  to  call  her — was, 
in  his  eyes,  a  dutiful  and  affectionate  child,  and  a  useful 
amanuensis,  and  nothing  more.  So  little  did  he  expect 
ever  to  hear  again  of  her  embryo  work,  that  he  did  not 
even  ask  its  title. 

At  length,  in  January,  1778,  'Evelina'  was  published. 
The  author  was  informed  of  the  event  through  hearing  an 
advertisement  announcing  it  read  aloud  by  her  step-mother 


64  The  Author  visits  Chesington. 

at  breakfast-time.  Those  of  the  party  who  were  in 
the  secret  smiled,  or  blushed  ;  those  who  were  not 
suspected  nothing.  Several  weeks  elapsed  before  the  new 
novel  attracted  much  attention.  Meanwhile  the  writer 
was  laid  up  with  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  On  quitting 
her  bedroom,  she  found  that,  in  the  circles  known  to  her, 
her  book  was  being  widely  read,  with  speculations  as  to 
its  authorship.  One  acquaintance  attributed  it  to  Anstey, 
then  famous  for  his  '  New  Bath  Guide ;'  most  voices 
agreed  that  it  could  not  have  proceeded  from  a  woman's 
pen — a  conclusion  which,  with  the  usual  perversity  of  her 
sex,  Miss  Burney  regarded  as  a  high  compliment.  Then 
the  magazines  commenced  to  speak  in  its  praise.  The 
London  Review  and  the  Monthly  Review  both  gave  favour- 
able notices.  Thus  stimulated,  the  sale  increased,  till  at 
the  end  of  the  fifth  month  two  editions  had  been  exhausted, 
and  a  third  was  fast  being  disposed  of.*  By  May,  Fanny 
was  sufficiently  recovered  to  leave  town,  and  went  on  a  long 
visit  to  Chesington,  where,  as  she  'could  hardly  walk  three 
yards  in  a  day  at  first,'  she  amused  herself  with  reading 
*  Evelina  '  to  Daddy  Crisp,  and  goading  his  curiosity  by 
allusions  to  dark  reports  about  its  origin.  Crisp,  who,  of 
course,  suspected  some  mystery,  was  guarded  in  his  praise, 
but  gratified  his  young  favourite  by  betraying  a  most  un- 
cynical  eagerness  for  the  third  volume  as  soon  as  the  first 
twohad  been  despatched.  Before  long,  exciting  letters  from 
home  began  to  pour  in  on  the  convalescent  at  the  Hall. 
She  gives  the  substance  of  some  of  them  in  her  Diary  : 

"  I  received  from  Charlotte  a  letter,  the  most  interesting 
that  could  be  written  to  me,  for  it  acquainted  me  that  my 

*  The  first  edition  consisted  of  800  copies,  the  second  of  500,  the  third  of 
I, OCX).  A  fourth  edition,  the  extent  of  vvhich  was  not  divulged,  followed  in  the 
autumn.  After  the  thircl  edition,  Lowndes  paid  the  author  a  further  sum  of 
ten  pounds  in  full  satisfaction  of  any  claim  or  expectation  which  she  or  her 
friends  might  found  on  the  continued  success  of  the  book. 


Her  Father  reads  Eveline.  65 

dear  father  was  at  length  reading  my  book,  which  has  now 
been  pubhshed  six  months.  How  this  has  come  to  pass, 
I  am  yet  in  the  dark ;  but  it  seems  ....  he  desired 
Charlotte  to  bring  him  the  Monthly  Review  ;  she  contrived 
to  look  over  his  shoulder  as  he  opened  it,  which  he  did  at 
the  account  of  '  Evelina  ;  or,  A  Young  Lady's  Entrance 
into  the  World.'  He  read  it  with  great  earnestness,  then 
put  it  down  ;  and  presently  after  snatched  it  up,  and  read 
it  again.  Doubtless  his  paternal  heart  felt  some  agitation 
for  his  girl  in  reading  a  review  of  her  publication  ! — how- 
he  got  at  the  name  I  cannot  imagine.  Soon  after,  he 
turned  to  Charlotte,  and  bidding  her  come  close  to  him, 
he  put  his  finger  on  the  word  *  Evelina,'  and  saying  she 
knew  what  it  was,  bade  her  write  down  the  name,  and  send 
the  man  to  Lowndes',  as  if  for  herself.  This  she  did,  and 
away  went  William.  When  William  returned,  he  took 
the  book  from  him,  and  the  moment  he  was  gone,  opened 
the  first  volume — and  opened  it  upon  the  Ode  /" 

Prefixed  to  Evelina  was  an  inscription  in  verse  to  the 
writer's  father,  much  more  remarkable  for  tenderness  of 
feeling  than  for  poetical  merit. 

"  How  great  must  have  been  his  astonishment  at  seeing 
himself  so  addressed  !  Indeed,  Charlotte  says  he  looked 
all  amazement,  read  a  line  or  two  with  great  eagerness, 
and  then,  stopping  short,  he  seemed  quite  affected,  and 
the  tears  started  into  his  eyes.  Dear  soul !  I  am  sure 
they  did  into  mine ;  nay,  I  even  sobbed  as  I  read  the 
account. 

I  believe  he  was  obliged  to  go  out  before  he  advanced 
much  further.  But  the  next  day  I  had  a  letter  from 
Susan,  in  which  I  heard  that  he  had  begun  reading  it  with 
Lady  Hales  and  Miss  Coussmaker,  and  that  they  liked  it 
vastly  !     Lady  Hales  spoke  of  it  very  innocently,  in  the 

5 


66         Mrs.    Thrale  and  Mrs.   Cholmotideley. 

highest  terms,  declaring  she  was  sure  it  was  written  by 
somebody  in  high  Hfe,  and  that  it  had  all  the  marks  of  real 
genius  !   She  added,  '  He  must  be  a  man  of  great  abilities.'  " 

Dr.  Burney's  opinion  was  expressed  with  even  greater 
simplicity  than  this.     From  an  unbeliever  he  had  been 
suddenly  changed  into  a  worshipper,  and  in  the  first  glow 
of  his  conversion,  he  pronounced  the  new  novel  to  be  the 
best  he  had  met  with,  excepting  Fielding's,  and  in  some 
respects  better  than  his  !     A  proselyte  himself,  he  was  at 
once  full  of  schemes  for  spreading  the  knowledge  of  the 
true  faith.    He  would  begin  by  telling  Mrs.  Thrale,  as  the 
centre  of  a  large  literar}-  circle.     Before  he  could  broach 
the  subject,  he  heard  his  daughter's  book  celebrated  at  the 
Streatham  tea-table.     "  Madam,"  cried  Dr.  Johnson,  see- 
sawing on  his  chair,  "  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  was  talking  to 
me  last  night  of  a  new  novel,  which,  she  says,  has  a  very 
uncommon  share  of  merit — '  Evelina.'     She  says  that  she 
has  not  been  so  entertained  this  great  while  as  in  reading 
it,  and  that  she  shall  go  all  over  London  to  discover  the 
author."   Mrs.  Cholmondeley  was  a  sister  of  Peg  Woffing- 
ton,  the  actress,  and  had  married  Captain  Cholmondeley, 
second  son  of  the  Earl  of  Cholmondeley,  and  a  nephew  of 
Horace   Walpole.     Her  husband  afterwards  quitted  the 
army,  and  took  orders ;  and  at  this  time  the  salon  of  the 
witty  and  eccentric  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  was  in  high  repute. 
Besides    recommending    Evelina    to    Johnson,    she    had 
engaged   Burke  and  Reynolds  to  get  it,  and  announced 
her  intention  of  keeping  it  on  her  table  the  whole  summer 
to  make  it  as  widely  known  as  possible.     All  this  made  it 
necessary  for  her  friend  and  rival,  Mrs.  Thrnle,  not  to  be 
left  in  the  background.     There  was  but  one  thing  to  be 
done  :  the  lady  of  Streatham  lost  no  time  in  procuring 
and  reading  this  new  success  ;  fell  into  a  rapture  over  it ; 


Success  of  'Evelina.'  67 

bepraised  it  with  her  usual  vivacity,  and  passed  it  on  to 
Johnson.  The  great  man  took  to  it  immensely.  When 
he  had  finished  one  volume,  he  was  as  impatient  as  Crisp 
had  been  for  the  next,  protesting  that  he  could  not  get  rid  of 
the  rogue  ;  and  his  judgment  was  that  there  were  passages 
in  the  book  that  might  do  honour  to  Richardson.  The 
packet  of  letters  in  which  this  compliment  was  transmitted 
to  Fanny  reported  also  that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  had 
forgotten  his  dinner  while  engrossed  with  her  story,  and 
that  Burke  had  sat  up  all  night  to  finish  it  ;  and  Dr. 
Burney  added  an  enclosure,  in  which  he  said  :  '  Thou  hast 
made  thy  old  father  laugh  and  cry  at  thy  pleasure.' 

If  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  could  claim  to  have  introduced 
Evelina  to  the  polite  world,  to  Mrs.  Thrale  fell  the 
distinction  of  making  known  its  author.  After  ratifying 
the  general  opinion  of  the  work,  Mrs.  Thrale  asked,  in 
Burney's  presence,  whether  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  had  yet 
found  out  the  writer,  'because,'  said  the  speaker,  '  I  long 
to  know  him  of  all  things.'  This  inquiry  produced  an 
avowal,  which  the  Doctor  had  obtained  his  daughter's 
permission  to  make  ;  and  shortly  afterwards  he  appeared 
at  Chesington  to  carry  her  to  Streatham,  and  present  her, 
by  appointment,  to  the  Thrales — and  to  Dr.  Johnson. 

Many  surprising  successes  are  recorded  in  the  annals  of 
literature  ;  but  there  have  been  few  quite  like  this.  Lately 
the  least  noticed  member  of  her  father's  household, 
Frances  Burney  was  now  elevated  far  above  its  head. 
Other  writers  before  their  rise  have  been  insignificant ; 
the  author  of  Evelina  was  despised.  Proud  and  happy 
man  though  he  was,  Dr.  Burney  could  not  at  once  break 
off  the  habit  of  calling  hex  poor  Fanny.  "  Do  you  breathe, 
my  dear  Fanny  ?"  asks  Susan  in  a  letter,  after  recounting 
part  of  the  wonders  above  mentioned.  "  It  took  away  my 
breath,"  adds  the  writer,  ''and  then  made  me  skip  about 

5—2 


68  N'aitcy  Dawson. 

like  a  mad  creature."  "  My  dearest  Susy,"  responds 
Fanny,  ''  don't  you  think  there  must  be  some  wager 
depending  among  the  Httle  curled  imps  who  hover  over 
us  mortals,  of  how  much  flummery  goes  to  turn  the  head 
of  an  authoress  ?  Your  last  communication  very  near  did 
my  business,  for,  meeting  Mr.  Crisp  ere  I  had  composed 
myself,  I  '  tipt  him  such  a  touch  of  the  heroics  '  as  he 
has  not  seen  since  the  time  when  I  was  so  much  celebrated 
for  dancing  '  Nancy  Dawson.'*  I  absolutely  longed  to 
treat  him  with  one  of  Captain  Mirvan'st  frolics,  and  to 
fling  his  wig  out  of  the  window.  I  restrained  myself, 
however,  from  the  apprehension  that  they  would  imagine  I 
had  a  universal  spite  to  that  harmless  piece  of  goods,  which 
I  have  already  been  knov,n  to  treat  with  no  little  indignity. 
He  would  fain  have  discovered  the  reason  of  my  skittish- 
ness ;  but  as  I  could  not  tell  it  him,  I  was  obliged  to 
assure  him  it  would  be  lost  time  to  inquire  further  into 
my  flights."  Refraining  from  the  wig,  Fanny  darted  out 
of  the  room,  and,  as  she  tells  us  elsewhere,:}:  performed  a 
sort  of  jig  round  an  old  mulberry-tree  that  stood  on  the 
lawn  before  the  house.  She  related  this  incident  many 
years  afterwards  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  has  recorded 
it  in  his  journal. § 

It  will  be  gathered  from  our  last  extract  that  Mr.  Crisp 
was  not  3'et  in  possession  of  the  great  secret.  Fanny 
dreaded  the  edge  of  his  criticism,  even  more  than  she  had 
dreaded  the  chill  of  her  father's  contempt.     Dr.  Burney 

*  Mr.  Crisp  to  Miss  Burney,  January,  1779  :  "Do  you  remember,  about  a 
dozen  years  ago,  how  you  used  to  dance  '  Nancy  Dawson'  on  the  grass-plot, 
with  your  cap  on  the  ground,  and  your  long  hair  streaming  down  your  back, 
one  shoe  oft',  and  throwing  about  your  head  like  a  mad  thing  !*' 

f  The  sea-captain  in  '  Evelina.' 

X  Diary,  i.,  p.  18  ;  Memoirs,  ii.,  p.  149. 

§  Lockhart's  '  Life  of  Scott,'  vi.,  p.  388.  There  seems  to  be  some  trifling 
discrepancy  between  the  different  accounts,  both  as  to  the  date  and  the  exact 
occasion  of  this  incident. 


The  Secret  told  to  Air.   Crisp.  69 

arrived  at  the  Hall  to  fetch  away  his  daughter  on  the  first 
Saturday  in  August,  and  it  was  agreed  between  them  that 
a  disclosure  could  no  longer  be  deferred.  "  My  dear 
father,"  says  the  Diary,  "  desired  to  take  upon  himself  the 
communication  to  my  Daddy  Crisp,  and  as  it  is  now  in  so 
many  hands  that  it  is  possible  accident  might  discover  it 
to  him,  I  readily  consented.  Sunday  evening,  as  I  was 
going  into  my  father's  room,  I  heard  him  say,  *  The 
variety  of  characters,  the  variety  of  scenes,  and  the 
language — why,  she  has  had  very  little  education  but  what 
she  has  given  herself — less  than  any  of  the  others  !'  and 
Mr.  Crisp  exclaimed,  '  Wonderful !  it's  wonderful  !'  I 
now  found  what  was  going  forward,  and  therefore  deemed 
it  most  fitting  to  decamp.  About  an  hour  after,  as  I  was 
passing  through  the  hall,  I  met  my  Daddy  Crisp.  His 
face  was  all  animation  and  archness  ;  he  doubled  his  fist 
at  me,  and  would  have  stopped  me,  but  I  ran  past  him 
into  the  parlour.  Before  supper,  however,  I  again  met 
him,  and  he  would  not  suffer  me  to  escape  ;  he  caught 
both  my  hands,  and  looked  as  if  he  would  have  looked  me 
through,  and  then  exclamied,  '  Why,  you  little  hussy, 
ain't  you  ashamed  to  look  me  in  the  face,  you  '  Evelina,' 
you  !  Why,  what  a  dance  have  you  led  me  about  it ! 
Young  friend,  indeed  !  Oh,  you  little  hussy,  what  tricks 
have  you  served  me!'  I  was  obliged  to  allow  of  his 
running  on  with  these  gentle  appellations  for  I  know  not 
how  long,  ere  he  could  sufficiently  compose  himself,  after 
his  great  surprise,  to  ask  or  hear  any  particulars;  and 
then  he  broke  out  every  three  instants  with  exclamations 
of  astonishment  at  how  I  had  found  time  to  write  so 
much  unsuspected,  and  how  and  where  I  had  picked  up 
such  various  materials  ;  and  not  a  few  times  did  he,  with 
me,  as  he  had  with  my  father,  exclaim,  '  Wonderful  !' 
He  has  since  made  me  read  him  all  my  letters  upon  this 


70  Characters  in  Evelijia. 

subject.  He  said  Lowndes  would  have  made  an  estate, 
had  he  given  me  £\,qoo  for  it,  and  that  he  ought  not  to 
have  given  less.  '  You  have  nothing  to  do  now,'  con- 
tinued he,  *  but  to  take  your  pen  in  hand,  for  your  fame 
and  reputation  are  made,  and  an}-  bookseller  will  snap  at 
what  you  write.'  " 

A  day  or  two  after  this  conversation,  Fanny  and  her 
father  left  Liberty  Hall,  as  Mr.  Crisp  was  pleased  to 
designate  his  retreat.  Arrived  at  the  verge  of  our  own 
heroine's  entrance  into  the  world,  we  shall  not  stop  to 
discuss  the  question  how  far  she  was  entitled  to  the  fame 
she  had  so  rapidly  won,  nor  shall  we  engage  in  an}- 
criticism  of  the  work  by  which  she  had  acquired  it.  We 
may  assent  to  the  admission  of  an  admirer  that  the  society 
depicted  in  Evelina  is  made  up  of  unreal  beings.  What 
else  could  be  expected  from  a  fiction  designed  in  immature 
youth,  executed,  like  patchwork,  at  intervals,  and  put 
together,  at  last,  without  advice  from  any  experienced 
person  ?  Real  or  unreal,  however,  the  characters  in  the 
novel  were  vivid  enough  to  interest  strongly  those  of  the 
writer's  contemporaries  who  were  most  familiar  with  the 
world  and  human  nature. 

In  the  conversations  which  we  are  about  to  extract  will 
be  found  numerous  allusions  to  personages  who,  though 
fictitious,  are,  at  any  rate,  as  substantial  for  us  as  most 
of  the  talkers,  who  have  long  since  passed  into  the  region 
of  shadows.  We  may  leave  to  Miss  Burney  the  task  of 
introducing  her  friends ;  she  mentions  the  creations  of 
her  brain  without  a  word  of  explanation,  because  she 
knew  that  the  few  eyes  and  ears  for  which  her  Diary  was 
intended  were  as  well  acquainted  with  them  as  herself. 
It  therefore  devolves  on  us  to  indicate  the  chief  actors  in 
Evelina  to  our  readers.  We  have  the  iionour  to  j)rc- 
sent  :   Madame    Duval.   Evelina's  low-bred    cfrandmothcr 


Dinner  at  Streatham.  yi 

from  Paris,  interlarding  her  illiterate  English  with  an 
incessant  Mafoi  !  and  other  French  interjections  ;  Captain 
Mirvan,  a  fair  specimen  of  the  coarse  naval  officer  of  that 
time;*  the  Branghtons,  a  vulgar  famil}^  living  on  Snow 
Hill ;  Mr.  Smith,  a  Holborn  beau,  lodging  with  the 
Branghtons.  Add  to  these,  Lord  Orville,  the  hero,  and 
Sir  Clement  Willoughby,  the  villain  of  the  piece ;  Mr. 
Lovel,  a  fop  ;  Lady  Louisa,  a  languishing  dame  of  quality  ; 
Sir  John  Belmont,  the  heroine's  father;  M.  Du  Bois,  a 
Frenchman  in  attendance  on  Madame  Duval ;  and  Mr. 
Macartney,  a  starving  Scotch  poet.  Of  the  last  two,  the 
author  conferred  on  the  former  the  maiden  name  of  her 
grandmother  ;  on  the  latter,  the  maiden-name  of  her  god- 
mother, Mrs.  Greville. 

We  will  give  Fanny's  account  of  her  first  dinner  at 
Streatham  in  the  words  of  her  Diary  : 

"  When  we  were  summoned  to  dinner,  Mrs.  Thrale 
made  my  father  and  me  sit  on  each  side  of  her.  I  said 
that  I  hoped  I  did  not  take  Dr.  Johnson's  place  ; — for  he 
had  not  yet  appeared. 

*  No,'  answered  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  he  will  sit  by  you,  which 
I  am  sure  will  give  him  great  pleasure.' 

Soon  after  we  were  seated,  this  great  man  entered.  I 
have  so  true  a  veneration  for  him,  that  the  very  sight  of 
him  inspires  me  with  delight  and  reverence,  notwithstand- 
ing the  cruel  infirmities  to  which  he  is  subject ;  for  he 
has  almost  perpetual  convulsive  movements,  either  of 
his  hands,  lips,  feet,  or  knees,  and  sometimes  of  all 
together. 

*  '  I  have  this  to  comfort  me  :  that,  the  more  I  see  of  sea-captains,  the  less 
reason  I  ha%'e  to  be  ashamed  of  Captain  Miivan  ;  for  they  have  all  so  irresistible 
a  propensity  to  wanton  mischief,  to  roasting  beaux  and  detesting  old  women, 
that  I  quite  rejoice  I  showed  the  book  to  no  one  ere  printed,  lest  I  should  have 
been  prevailed  upon  to  soften  his  character.' — Diary,  May  28,  1780. 


72  Dr.  Johnson. 

Mrs.  Thrale  introduced  me  to  him,  and  he  took  his 
place.  We  had  a  noble  dinner,  and  a  most  elegant 
dessert.  Dr.  Johnson,  in  the  middle  of  dinner,  asked 
Mrs.  Thrale  what  was  in  some  little  pies  that  were  near 
him. 

'  Mutton,"  answered  she ;  *  so  I  don't  ask  you  to  eat 
any,  because  I  know  you  despise  it.' 

*  No,  madam,  no,'  cried  he  ;  '  I  despise  nothing  that 
is  good  of  its  sort  ;  but  I  am  too  proud  now  to  eat  of  it. 
Sitting  by  Miss  Burney  makes  me  very  proud  to-day  !' 

'Miss  Burney,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  laughing,  'you  must 
take  great  care  of  your  heart  if  Dr.  Johnson  attacks  it  ; 
for  I  assure  you  he  is  not  often  successless.' 

*  What's  that  you  say,  madam  ?'  cried  he  ;  '  are  you 
making  mischief  between  the  young  lady  and  me  already  ?' 

A  little  while  after  he  drank  Miss  Thrale's  health  and 
mine,  and  then  added  : 

'  'Tis  a  terrible  thing  that  we  cannot  wish  young  ladies 
well  without  wishing  them  to  become  old  women  !' 

'  But  some  people,'  said  Mr.  Seward,  '  are  old  and 
young  at  the  same  time,  for  they  wear  so  well  that  they 
never  look  old.' 

'  No,  sir,  no,'  cried  the  doctor,  laughing ;  '  that  never 
yet  was  ;  you  might  as  well  say  they  are  at  the  same  time 
tall  and  short.  I  remember  an  epitaph  to  that  purpose, 
which  is  in ' 

(I  have  quite  forgot  what, — and  also  the  name  it  was 
made  upon,  but  the  rest  I  recollect  exactly :) 

' lies  buried  here  ; 


So  early  wise,  so  lasting  fair, 

That  none,  unless  her  years  you  lokl. 

Thought  her  a  child,  or  thought  her  old.' 

Mrs.  Thrale  then  repeated  some  lines  in  French,  and 
Dr.  Johnson  some  more  in  Latin.      An  epilogue  of  Mr. 


David  Gar  rick.  j^) 

Garrick's  to  '  Bonduca  '  was  then  mentioned,  and  Dr. 
Johnson  said  it  was  a  miserable  performance.,  and  every- 
body agreed  it  was  the  worst  he  had  ever  made. 

'  And  yet,'  said  Mr.  Seward,  '  it  has  been  very  much 
admired  :  but  it  is  in  praise  of  EngHsh  valour,  and  so  I 
suppose  the  subject  made  it  popular.' 

'  I  don't  know,  sir,'  said  Dr.  Johnson,  '  anything  about 
the  subject,  for  I  could  not  read  on  till  I  came  to  it  ; 
I  got  through  half  a  dozen  lines,  but  I  could  observe 
no  other  subject  than  eternal  dulness.  I  don't  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  David  ;  I  am  afraid  he  is  grown  super- 
annuated, for  his  prologues  and  epilogues  used  to  be  in- 
comparable.' 

'  Nothing  is  so  fatiguing,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  as  the 
life  of  a  wit ;  he  and  Wilkes  are  the  two  oldest  men  of 
their  ages  I  know,  for  they  have  both  worn  themselves 
out  by  being  eternally  on  the  rack  to  give  entertainment 
to  others.' 

'  David,  madam,'  said  the  doctor,  '  looks  much  older 
than  he  is  ;  for  his  face  has  had  double  the  business  of 
any  other  man's ;  it  is  never  at  rest ;  when  he  speaks  one 
minute,  he  has  quite  a  different  countenance  to  what  he 
assumes  the  next.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  kept  the  same 
look  for  half  an  hour  together  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
life  ;  and  such  an  eternal,  restless,  fatiguing  play  of  the 
muscles  must  certainly  wear  out  a  man's  face  before  its 
real  time.' 

'  O  yes,'  cried  Mrs.  Thrale ;  *  we  must  certainly 
make  some  allowance  for  such  wear  and  tear  of  a  man's 
face.' 

The  next  name  that  was  started  was  that  of  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  and  Mrs.  Thrale  said  : 

'  Why  now,  Dr.  Johnson,  he  is  another  of  those  whom 
you  suffer  nobody  to  abuse  but  yourself;  Garrick  is  one, 


74  The  Unclubbable  Man. 

too  ;  for  if  any  other  person  speaks  against  him,  you 
browbeat  him  in  a  minute  !' 

*  Why,  madam,'  answered  he,  '  they  don't  know  when 
to  abuse  him,  and  when  to  praise  him  ;  I  will  allow  no 
man  to  speak  ill  of  David  that  he  does  not  deserve  ; 
and  as  to  Sir  John,  why  really  I  believe  him  to  be  an 
honest  man  at  the  bottom:  but  to  be  sure  he  is  penurious, 
and  he  is  mean,  and  it  must  be  owned  he  has  a  degree  of 
brutality,  and  a  tendency  to  savageness,  that  cannot  easily 
be  defended.' 

We  all  laughed,  as  he  meant  we  should,  at  this  curious 
manner  of  speaking  in  his  favour,  and  he  then  related  an 
anecdote  that  he  said  he  knew  to  be  true  in  regard  to  his 
meanness.  He  said  that  Sir  John  and  he  once  belonged 
to  the  same  club,  but  that  as  he  ate  no  supper  after  the 
first  night  of  his  admission,  he  desired  to  be  excused  pay- 
ing his  share, 

'  And  was  he  excused  ?' 

*'  O  yes  ;  for  no  man  is  angry  at  another  for  being 
inferior  to  himself!  we  all  scorned  him,  and  admitted  his 
plea.  For  my  part,  I  was  such  a  fool  as  to  pay  my  share 
for  wine,  though  I  never  tasted  any.  But  Sir  John  was  a 
most  unduhhahU  man  !' 

'  And  this,'  continued  he,  '  reminds  me  of  a  gentle- 
man and  lady  with  whom  I  travelled  once  ;  I  suppose  I 
must  call  them  gentleman  and  lad}',  according  to  form, 
because  they  travelled  in  their  own  coach  and  four  horses. 
But  at  the  first  inn  where  we  stopped,  the  lady  called  for 
— a  pint  of  ale  !  and  when  it  came,  quarrelled  with  the 
waiter  for  not  giving  full  measure.  Now,  Madame  Duval 
could  not  have  done  a  grosser  thing.' 

Oh,  how  everybody  laughed  !  and  to  be  sure  I  did  not 
glow  at  all,  nor  munch  fast,  nor  look  on  m}'  plate,  nor 
lose  an}'  part  of  my  usual  composure  !     But  how  grateful 


Curiosity  as  to  Aiithorship  of  Evelina.        75 

do  I  feel  to  this  dear  Dr.  Johnson,  for  never  naming  me 
and  the  book  as  belonging  one  to  the  other,  and  yet 
making  an  allusion  that  showed  his  thoughts  led  to  it, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  that  seemed  to  justify  the  character 
as  being  natural  !  But,  indeed,  the  delicacy  I  met  with 
from  him,  and  from  all  the  Thrales,  was  yet  more  flatter- 
ing to  me  than  the  praise  with  which  I  have  heard  they 
have  honoured  my  book. 

After  dinner,  when  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  left  the  gentle- 
men, we  had  a  conversation  that  to  me  could  not  but  be 
delightful,  as  she  was  all  good-humour,  spirits,  sense,  and 
agreeahility.  Surely  I  may  make  words,  when  at  a  loss,  if 
Dr.  Johnson  does. 

We  left  Streatham  at  about  eight  o'clock,  and  Mr. 
Seward,  who  handed  me  into  the  chaise,  added  his  in- 
terest to  the  rest,  that  my  father  would  not  fail  to  bring 
me  again  next  week  to  stay  with  them  for  some  time.  In 
short,  I  was  loaded  with  civilities  from  them  all.  And 
my  ride  home  was  equally  happy  with  the  rest  of  the 
day,  for  my  kind  and  most  beloved  father  was  so  happy 
in  my  happiness,  and  congratulated  me  so  sweetly,  that 
he  could,  like  myself,  think  on  no  other  subject. 

Yet  my  honours  stopped  not  here  ;  for  Hetty,  who, 
with  her  sposo,  was  here  to  receive  us,  told  me  she  had 
lately  met  Mrs.  Reynolds,  sister  of  Sir  Joshua  ;  and  that 
she  talked  very  much  and  very  highly  of  a  new  novel 
called  '  Evelina ;'  though  without  a  shadow  of  suspicion 
as  to  the  scribbler.  .  .  . 

Sir  Joshua,  it  seems,  vows  he  would  give  fifty  pounds 
to  know  the  author  !  I  have  also  heard,  by  the  means  of 
Charles,  that  other  persons  have  declared  they  ivill  find 
him  out  ! 

This  intelligence  determined  me  upon  going  myself 
to  Mr.   Lowndes,  and  discovering  what  sort   of  answers 


76  The  Bookseller  in  the  Da7'k. 

he  made  to  such  curious  inquirers  as  I  found  were  hkely 
to  address  him.  But  as  I  did  not  dare  trust  myself  to 
speak,  for  I  felt  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  act  my  part 
well,  I  asked  my  mother  to  accompany  me. 

We     introduced    ourselves   by    buying   the   book,    for 

which  I  had  a  commission  from  Mrs.  G .    Fortunately 

Mr.  Lowndes  himself  was  in  the  shop  ;  as  we  found  by 
his  air  of  consequence  and  authority,  as  well  as  his  age  ; 
for  I  never  saw  him  before. 

The  moment  he  had  given  my  mother  the  book,  she 
asked  if  he  could  tell  her  who  wrote  it. 

'  No,'  he  answered  :  '  I  don't  know  myself.' 

'  Pho,  pho,'  said  she ;  '  you  mayn't  choose  to  tell,  but 
you  must  know.' 

'  I  don't,  indeed,  ma'am,'  answered  he ;  'I  have  no 
honour  in  keeping  the  secret,  for  I  have  never  been 
trusted.  All  I  know  of  the  matter  is,  that  it  is  a  gentle- 
man of  the  other  end  of  the  town.' 

My  mother  made  a  thousand  other  inquiries,  to  which 
his  answers  were  to  the  following  effect  :  that  for  a  great 
while,  he  did  not  know  if  it  was  a  man  or  a  woman ;  but 
now,  he  knew  that  much,  and  that  he  was  a  master  of 
his  subject,  and  well  versed  in  the  manners  of  the 
times." 

A  few  days  after  this,  Mrs.  Thrale  called  in  St.  Martin's 
Street,  and  carried  her  new  acquaintance  down  to 
Streatham : 

"  At  night,  Mrs.  Thrale  asked  if  I  would  have  anything? 
I  answered,  '  No  ;'  but  Dr.  Johnson  said, — 

'  V'es  :  she  is  used,  madam,  to  suppers  ;  she  would  like 
an  Q^g  or  two,  and  a  few  slices  of  ham,  or  a  rasher — a 
rasher,  I  believe,  would  please  her  better.' 

How   ridiculous  !      However,  nothing  could   persuade 


Visits  to  the   Thrales.  yj 

Mrs.  Thrale  not  to  have  the  cloth  laid  ;  and  Dr.  Johnson 
was  so  facetious,  that  he  challenged  Mr.  Thrale  to  get 
drunk  ! 

'  I  wish,'  said  he,  '  my  master  would  say  to  me, 
Johnson,  if  3'ou  will  oblige  me,  you  will  call  for  a  bottle  of 
Toulon,  and  then  we  will  set  to  it,  glass  for  glass,  till  it  is 
done ;  and  after  that  I  will  say,  Thrale,  if  you  will  oblige 
me,  you  will  call  for  another  bottle  of  Toulon,  and  then 
we  will  set  to  it,  glass  for  glass,  till  that  is  done  :  and  by 
the  time  we  should  have  drunk  the  two  bottles  we  should 
be  so  happy,  and  such  good  friends,  that  we  should  fly 
into  each  other's  arms,  and  both  together  call  for  the 
third  !' 

1  ate  nothing,  that  they  might  not  again  use  such  a 
ceremony  with  me.  Indeed,  their  late  dinners  forbid 
suppers,  especially  as  Dr.  Johnson  made  me  eat  cake  at 
tea  ;  for  he  held  it  till  I  took  it,  with  an  odd  or  absent 
complaisance. 

He  was  extremely  comical  after  supper,  and  would  not 
suffer  Mrs.  Thrale  and  me  to  go  to  bed  for  near  an  hour 
after  we  made  the  motion.  .  .  . 

Now  for  this  morning's  breakfast. 

Dr.  Johnson,  as  usual,  came  last  into  the  library ;  he 
was  in  high  spirits,  and  full  of  mirth  and  sport.  I  had 
the  honour  of  sitting  next  to  him  :  and  now,  all  at  once, 
he  flung  aside  his  reserve,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  it  was 
time  I  should  fling  aside  mine. 

Mrs.  Thrale  told  him  that  she  intended  taking  me  to 
Mr.  T 's. 


'  So  you  ought,  madam,'  cried  he  ;  '  'tis  3'our  business 

to  be  cicerone  to  her.' 

Then  suddenly  he  snatched  my  hand,  and  kissing  it, 
'Ah!'  he  added,  'they  will  little  think  what  a  tartar 

you  carry  to  them  1' 


78  Table-Talk. 

'  No,  that  they  won't!'  cried  Mrs.  Thrale;  '  Miss  Burney 
looks  so  meek  and  so  quiet,  nobody  would  suspect  what  a 
comical  girl  she  is ;  but  I  believe  she  has  a  great  deal  of 
malice  at  heart.' 

'  Oh,  she's  a  toad!'  cried  the  doctor,  laughing — *a  sly 
young  rogue !  with  her  Smiths  and  her  Branghtons  !" 

'  Why,  Dr.  Johnson,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  I  hope  you 
are  very  well  this  morning  !  If  one  may  judge  by  your 
spirits  and  good-humour,  the  fever  you  threatened  us  with 
is  gone  off.' 

He  had  complained  that  he  was  going  to  be  ill  last 
night. 

'Why,  no,  madam,  no,'  answered  he,  '  I  am  not  yet 
well ;  I  could  not  sleep  at  all ;  there  I  lay,  restless  and 
uneasy,  and  thinking  all  the  time  of  Miss  Burney.  Perhaps 
I  have  offended  her,  thought  I  ;  perhaps  she  is  angry  ;  I 
have  seen  her  but  once,  and  I  talked  to  her  of  a  rasher! 
— Were  you  angry  ?' 

I  think  I  need  not  tell  you  my  answer. 

'  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  find  some  excuse,'  con- 
tinued he,  '  and,  as  I  could  not  sleep,  I  got  up,  and  looked 
for  some  authority  for  the  word  ;  and  I  find,  madam,  it  is 
used  by  Dryden  :  in  one  of  his  prologues  he  says — "  And 
snatch  a  homely  rasher  from  the  coals."  So  you  must  not 
mind  me,  madam  ;  I  say  strange  things,  but  I  mean  no 
harm.' 

I  was  almost  afraid  he  thought  I  was  really  idiot 
enough  to  have  taken  him  seriously  ;  but,  a  few  minutes 
after,  he  put  his  hand  on  my  arm,  and  shaking  his  head, 
exclaimed  : 

'  Oh,  you  are  a  sly  little  rogue  I — what  a  Holborn  beau 
have  you  drawn  1' 

'  Ay,  Miss  Burney,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  the  Holborn 
beau  is  Dr.  Johnscm's  favourite  ;  and  we  have  all  your 


Mr.  Smith.  79 

characters    by    heart,    from     Mr.    Smith    up    to     Lady 
Louisa.' 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Smith  is  the  man  !'  cried  he, 
laughing  violently.  '  Harry  Fielding  never  drew  so  good 
a  character  ! — such  a  fine  varnish  of  low  politeness  ! — such 
a  struggle  to  appear  a  gentleman  !  Madam,  there  is  no 
character  better  drawn  anywhere — in  any  book,  or  by  any 
author.' 

I  almost  poked  myself  under  the  table.  Never  did  I 
feel  so  delicious  a  confusion  since  I  was  born  !  But  he 
added  a  great  deal  more,  only  I  cannot  recollect  his  exact 
words,  and  I  do  not  choose  to  give  him  mine. 

'  Come,  come,'  cried  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  we'll  torment  her 
no  more  about  her  book,  for  I  see  it  really  plagues 
her.  I  own  I  thought  for  awhile  it  was  only  affectation, 
for  I'm  sure  if  the  book  were  mine  I  should  wish  to  hear 
of  nothing  else.  But  we  shall  teach  her  in  time  how 
proud  she  ought  to  be  of  such  a  performance.' 

'  Ah,  madam,'  cried  the  Doctor,  '  be  in  no  haste  to 
teach  her  that  ;  she'll  speak  no  more  to  us  when  she 
knows  her  own  weight.'  .... 

Some  time  after  the  Doctor  began  laughing  to  himself, 
and  then,  suddenly  turning  to  me,  he  called  out,  '  Only 
think,  Polly  !     Miss  has  danced  with  a  lord  !' 

*  Ah,  poor  Evelina!'  cried  Mrs.  Thrale,  'I  see  her 
now  in  Kensington  Gardens.  What  she  must  have 
suffered  !  Poor  girl !  what  fidgets  she  must  have  been  in! 
And  I  know  Mr.  Smith,  too,  very  well ;  I  always  have 
him  before  me  at  the  Hampstead  Ball,  dressed  in  a  white 
coat,  and  a  tambour  waistcoat,  worked  in  green  silk. 
Poor  Mr.  Seward  !  Mr.  Johnson  made  him  so  mad 
t'other  day  !  "  Why,  Seward,"  said  he,  "  how  smart  you 
are  dressed  !  Why  you  only  want  a  tambour  waistcoat, 
to  look  hke  Mr.  Smith!"     But  I  am  very  fond   of  Lady 


8o  fohnson  and  GoldsmitJi. 

Louisa.  I  think  her  as  well  drawn  as  any  character  in 
the  book — so  line,  so  affected,  so  languishing,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  so  insolent !'  .... 

As  I  have  always  heard  from  my  father  that  every 
individual  at  Streatham  spends  the  morning  alone,  I  took 
the  first  opportunity  of  absconding  to  my  own  room,  and 
amused  myself  in  writing  till  I  tired.  About  noon,  when 
I  went  into  the  library,  book-hunting,  Mrs.  Thrale  came 
to  me. 

We  had  a  very  nice  confab  about  various  books,  and 
exchanged  opinions  and  imitations  of  Baretti ;  she  told  me 
many  excellent  tales  of  him,  and  I,  in  return,  related  my 
stories. 

She  gave  me  a  long  and  very  interesting  account  of 
Dr.  Goldsmith,  who  was  intimately  known  here ;  but  in 
speaking  of  '  The  Good-natured  Man,'  when  I  extolled 
my  favourite  Croaker,  I  found  that  admirable  character 
was  a  downright  theft  from  Dr.  Johnson.  Look  at  the 
*  Rambler,'  and  you  will  find  Suspirius  is  the  man,  and 
that  not  merely  the  idea,  but  the  particulars  of  the 
character  are  all  stolen  thence  !* 

While  we  were  yet  reading  this  '  Rambler,'  Dr.  Johnson 
came  in  :  we  told  him  what  wc  were  about. 

'Ah,  madam!'  cried  he,  'Goldsmith  was  not  scrupu- 
lous ;  but  he  would  have  been  a  great  man  had  he  known 
the  real  value  of  his  own  internal  resources.' 

*  Miss  Burney,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  is  fond  of  his 
"  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  and  so  am  I  ;  don't  you  like  it, 
sir  ?' 

'  No,  madam ;  it  is  very  faulty.  There  is  nothing  of 
real  life  in  it,  and  very  little  of  nature.  It  is  a  mere 
fanciful  performance.' 

*  Suspirius  the  Screech  Owl.    See  '  Rambler '  for  Tuesday,  October  9,  1750. 


Johnson  mid  the  Scotch.  81 

He  then  seated  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  calling  to  me, 
said  :  '  Come,  Evelina — come,  and  sit  by  me.' 

I  obeyed,  and  he  took  me  almost  in  his  arms — that  is, 
one  of  his  arms,  for  one  would  go  three  times,  at  least, 
round  me — and,  half-laughing,  half-serious,  he  charged  me 
to  '  be  a  good  girl.' 

'  But,  my  dear,'  continued  he  with  a  very  droll  look, 
'what  makes  you  so  fond  of  the  Scotch  ?  I  don't  like  you 
for  that ;  I  hate  these  Scotch,  and  so  must  you.  I  wish 
Branghton  had  sent  the  dog  to  jail  —  that  Scotch  dog, 
Macartney  !' 

*  Why,  sir,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  don't  you  remember  he 
says  he  would,  but  that  he  should  get  nothing  by  it  ?' 

'  Why,  ay,  true,'  cried  the  Doctor,  see-sawing  very 
solemnly,  '  that,  indeed,  is  some  palhation  for  his  for- 
bearance. But  I  must  not  have  you  so  fond  of  the  Scotch, 
my  little  Burney ;  make  your  hero  what  you  will  but  a 
Scotchman.  Besides,  you  write  Scotch — you  say,  "  the 
one."  My  dear,  that's  not  English — never  use  that  phrase 
again.' 

'Perhaps,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  'it  may  be  used  in 
Macartney's  letter,  and  then  it  will  be  a  propriety.' 

'  No,  madam,  no !'  cried  he  ;  '  you  can't  make  a 
beauty  of  it ;  it  is  in  the  third  volume  ;  put  it  in  Macart- 
ney's letter,  and  welcome  !  —  that,  or  anything  that  is 
nonsense.' 

'  Why,  surely,'  cried  I,  '  the  poor  man  is  used  ill 
enough  by  the  Branghtons  !' 

'  But  Branghton,'  said  he,  '  only  hates  him  because  of 
his  wretchedness,  poor  fellow  !  But,  my  dear  love,  how 
should  he  ever  have  eaten  a  good  dinner  before  he  came 
to  England  ?' 

And  then  he  laughed  violently  at  young  Branghton's 
idea. 

6 


82  Civil  for  Fo7ir. 

'  Well,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  I  always  liked  Macartney  ; 
he  is  a  very  pretty  character,  and  I  took  to  him,  as  the 
folks  say.' 

'Why,  madam,'  answered  he,  'I  liked  Macartney  myself. 
Yes,  poor  fellow,  I  liked  the  man,  but  I  love  not  the  nation.' "' 

Miss  Burney's  visit  on  this  occasion  lasted  several  days, 
and   it  was   speedily  followed    by  another  and   another. 
Mrs.  Thrale,  having  discovered  a  fresh  attraction  for  her 
country  house,  hastened  to  turn  it  to  the  best  account. 
The    friendship    between    her    and    the   new    authoress 
developed  with   the   rapid    growth   peculiar  to  feminine 
attachments.     And  Fanny  enjoyed  her  life  at  Streatham. 
Dr.   Johnson    was    nearly   always   there ;    she    liked    the 
family ;  and  the  opulent  establishment,  with  its  well-kept 
gardens,  hot-houses,   shrubberies,   and   paddock,  had   all 
the  charm  of  novelty  to  a  young  woman,  whose  time  had 
long   been    divided    between    the    smok}-   atmosphere    of 
Leicester  Fields  and  the  desolation  of  Libert}'  Hall.     The 
great  Doctor,  whose  affection  for  her  increased  daily,  took 
an  early  opportunity  of  saying  to  her :  '  These  are  as  good 
people  as  you  can  be  with;  you  can  go  to  no  better  house; 
they  are  all  good -nature;    nothing  makes  them  angry.' 
She  found   no  cause  to  complain  of  Mr.  Thrale's  curt 
speech,   or   the    eldest    daughter's   cold    manner,   or   the 
roughness  of  Ursa  Major,  though  she  has  reported  Mrs. 
Thrale's  quick    answer  to  Johnson  when   he  asked    the 
motive  of  his  hostess's  excessive  complaisance :  '  Why, 
ril  tell  you,  sir ;  when  I  am  with  you,  and   Mr.  Thrale, 
and  Queeny,  I  am  obliged  to  be  civil  for  four.' 

If  Mrs.  Thrale  engrossed  a  large  share  of  her  novice's 
time  this  autumn,  she  took  pains  to  make  her  talk  a  little  in 
company,  and  prepared  her,  in  some  degree,  for  the  ordeal 
that  awaited  her  during  the  ensuing  winter  in  London. 


Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  83 

Numerous  visitors  were  invited  to  Streatham  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  timid  young  writer,  who,  though 
accustomed  to  society,  had  never  yet  learned  to  make  her 
voice  heard  in  a  circle  of  listeners.  One  afternoon  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  and  his  nieces  came  down,  and  on  their 
arrival,  the  conversation  being  turned  to  the  subject  of 
Evelina,  they  were  informed  that  they  should  meet  the 
author  at  dinner.  After  a  good  deal  of  guessing,  the 
suspicions  of  the  guests  settled  on  the  lady  of  the  house, 
who  sportively  assumed  a  conscious  air,  but  before  the 
close  of  the  day,  the  secret  was  allowed  to  transpire,  and 
when  the  party  broke  up,  Sir  Joshua,  approaching  Miss 
Burney,  with  his  most  courtlj'  bow,  hoped  that  as  soon  as 
she  left  Streatham  he  should  have  the  honour  of  seeing 
her  in  Leicester  Square, 

"  The  joke  is,"   writes   Fanny,  "  the  people  speak  as 
if  they  were   afraid  of  me,  instead   of  my  being  afraid 

of  them Next   morning,   Mrs.   Thrale   asked    me 

if  I  did  not  want  to  see  Mrs.  Montagu  ?  I  truly  said, 
I  should  be  the  most  insensible  of  animals  not  to  like  to 
see  our  sex's  glory."  A  note  was  despatched  accord- 
ingly, and  the  glory  of  her  sex  graciously  accepted.  On 
hearing  of  this,  "  Dr.  Johnson  began  to  see-saw,  with  a 
countenance  strongly  expressive  of  inward  fun,  and  after 
enjoying  it  some  time  in  silence,  he  suddenly,  and  with 
great  animation,  turned  to  me,  and  cried  :  '  Down  with 
her,  Burney  ! — down  with  her  ! — spare  her  not  ! — attack 
her,  fight  her,  and  down  with  her  at  once  !  You  are  a 
rising  wit,  and  she  is  at  the  top ;  and  when  I  was 
beginning  the  world,  and  was  nothing  and  nobody,  the 
joy  of  my  life  was  to  fire  at  all  the  established  wits  !  and 
then  everybody  loved  to  halloo  me  on.  But  there  is  no 
game  now;  everybody  would  be  glad  to  see  me  conquered: 
but  then,  when  I  was  new,  to  vanquish  the  great  ones  was 

6—2 


84  Mrs.  Montagu. 

all  the  delight  of  my  poor  little  dear  soul !     So  at  her, 
Burney — at  her,  and  down  with  her.' "     The  Queen  of  the 
Blue   Stockings   arrived,  attended    by  her  companion,  a 
Miss  Gregory ;  and  the  usual  presentation  and  disclosure 
took  place.     Fanny,  of  course,  had  not  much  to  say  for 
herself,  but  the  observant  eyes  were  busy  as  usual.     This 
is  their  report  of  Mrs.  Montagu ;  "  She  is  middle-sized, 
very  thin,  and  looks  infirm  ;  she  has  a  sensible  and  pene- 
trating countenance,  and  the  air  and  manner  of  a  woman 
accustomed  to  being  distinguished,  and  of  great  parts. 
Dr.   Johnson,    who    agrees    in    this,    told   us    that    Mrs. 
Hervey,  of  his  acquaintance,  says  she  can  remember  Mrs. 
Montagu  trying  for  this  same  air  and  manner.     Mr.  Crisp 
has  said  the  same  :  however,  nobody  can  now  impartially 
see   her,    and    not    confess  that   she  has  extremely  well 
succeeded."     When  dinner  v.'as  upon  table,  the  observer 
followed  the  procession,  in  a  tragedy  step,  as  Mr.  Thrale 
would  have  it,  into  the  dining-room.     The  conversation 
was  not  brilliant,  nor  is  much  of  it  recorded.     When  Mrs. 
Montagu's  new  house*  was  talked  of.  Dr.  Johnson,  in  a 
jocose  manner,  desired  to  know  if  he  should  be  invited 
to  see  it.     '  Ay,  sure,'  cried  Mrs.  Montagu,  looking  well 
pleased ;  '  or  else  I  shan't  like  it :  but  I  invite  you  all  to  a 
house-warming  ;  I  shall  hope  for  the  honour  of  seeing  all 
this  company  at  my  new  house  next  Easter-day  :    I  fix 
the  day  now  that  it  may  be  remembered.'    "  Dr.  Johnson," 
adds  Fanny,  "who  sat  next  to  me,  was  determined  I  should 
be  of  the  party,  for  he  suddenly  clapped  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  and  called  out  aloud  :  '  Little  Burney,  you  and  I 
will  go  together.'     '  Yes,  surely,'  cried  Mrs.  Montagu,  '  I 
shall  hope  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Evelina.'" 

It    was    at    Streatham    shortly    afterwards    that    Miss 
Burney  made  her  first  acquaintance  with  James  Boswell. 

*  She  was  ihcn  buikliiii;  hci  famous  house  in  rortman  Square. 


Bo  swell.  85 

We  do  not  get  our  account  of  this  meeting  direct  from 
the  Diary,  and  have  to  take  it  as  it  stands  in  the 
Memoirs,  dressed  up  by  the  pen  of  the  aged  Madame 
d'Arblay.  Boswell,  we  are  told,  had  a  strong  Scotch 
accent,  though  by  no  means  strong  enough  to  make  him 
unintelligible  to  an  English  ear.  He  had  an  odd  mock 
solemnity  of  tone  and  manner  that  he  had  acquired  un- 
consciously from  constantly  thinking  of,  and  imitating, 
Johnson.  There  was  also  something  slouching  in  the 
gait  and  dress  of  Mr.  Boswell  that  ridiculously  caricatured 
the  same  model.  His  clothes  were  always  too  large  for 
him  ;  his  hair,  or  wig,  was  constantly  in  a  state  of  negli- 
gence ;  and  he  never  for  a  moment  sat  still  or  upright  in 
his  chair.  Every  look  and  movement  betrayed  either  in- 
tentional or  involuntary  imitation  : 

"  As  Mr.  Boswell  was  at  Streatham  only  upon  a  morn- 
ing visit,  a  collation  was  ordered,  to  which  all  were  as- 
sembled. Mr.  Boswell  was  preparing  to  take  a  seat  that 
he  seemed,  by  prescription,  to  consider  as  his  own,  next 
to  Dr.  Johnson  ;  but  Mr.  Seward,  who  was  present, 
waved  his  hand  for  Mr.  Boswell  to  move  farther  on,  say- 
ing with  a  smile  : 

"  '  Mr.  Boswell,  that  seat  is  Miss  Burney's.' 
"  He  stared,  amazed :  the  asserted  claimant  was  new 
and  unknown  to  him,  and  he  appeared  by  no  means 
pleased  to  resign  his  prior  rights.  But  after  looking 
round  for  a  minute  or  two,  with  an  important  air  of 
demanding  the  meaning  of  the  innovation,  and  receiving 
no  satisfaction,  he  reluctantly,  almost  resentfully,  got 
another  chair,  and  placed  it  at  the  back  of  the  shoulder 
of  Dr.  Johnson  ;  while  this  new  and  unheard-of  rival 
quietly  seated  herself  as  if  not  hearing  what  was  passing, 
for  she  shrank  from  the  explanation  that  she  feared  might 


86  Boszuell. 

ensue,  as  she  saw  a  smile  stealing  over  every  countenance, 
that  of  Dr.  Johnson  himself  not  excepted,  at  the  discom- 
fiture and  surprise  of  Mr.  Boswell. 

"  Mr.  Boswell,  however,  was  so  situated  as  not  to 
remark  it  in  the  Doctor ;  and  of  everyone  else,  when  in 
that  presence,  he  was  unobservant,  if  not  contemptuous. 
In  truth,  when  he  met  with  Dr.  Johnson,  he  commonly 
forbore  even  answering  anything  that  went  forward,  lest 
he  should  miss  the  smallest  sound  from  that  voice  to 
which  he  paid  such  exclusive,  though  merited,  homage. 
But  the  moment  that  voice  burst  forth,  the  attention 
which  it  excited  in  Mr.  Boswell  amounted  almost  to  pain. 
His  eyes  goggled  with  eagerness ;  he  leant  his  ear  almost 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  Doctor ;  and  his  mouth  dropped 
open  to  catch  every  syllable  that  might  be  uttered  :  nay, 
he  seemed  not  only  to  dread  losing  a  word,  but  to  be 
anxious  not  to  miss  a  breathing ;  as  if  hoping  from  it, 
latently  or  mystically,  some  information. 

"  But  when,  in  a  few  minutes,  Dr.  Johnson,  whose  eye 
did  not  follow  him,  and  who  had  concluded  him  to  be  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table,  said  something  gaily  and 
good-humouredly,  by  the  appellation  of  Bozzy,  and  dis- 
covered, by  the  sound  of  the  reply,  that  Bozzy  had  planted 
himself,  as  closel}-  as  he  could,  behind  and  between 
the  elbows  of  the  new  usurper  and  his  own,  the  Doctor 
turned  angril}'  round  upon  him,  and,  clapping  his  hand 
rather  loudly  upon  his  knee,  said,  in  a  tone  of  displeasure  : 
'  What  do  you  do  there,  sir  ? — Go  to  the  table,  sir  !' 

"  Mr.  Boswell  instantly,  and  with  an  air  of  affright, 
obeyed  ;  and  there  was  something  so  unusual  in  such 
humble  submission  to  so  imperious  a  command,  that 
another  smile  gleamed  its  way  across  every  mouth,  except 
that  of  the  Doctor  and  of  Mr.  Boswell,  who  nowv,  very 
unwillingly,  took  a  distant  seat. 


The  Branghtoiis.  ^'J 

"  But,  ever  restless  when  not  at  the  side  of  Dr.  Johnson, 
he  presently  recollected  something  that  he  wished  to 
exhibit ;  and,  hastily  rising,  was  running  away  in  its  search, 
when  the  Doctor,  calling  after  him,  authoritatively  said : 
'  What  are  you  thinking  of,  sir  ?  Why  do  you  get  up  before 
the  cloth  is  removed  ? — Come  back  to  your  place,  sir !' 

"  Again,  and  with  equal  obsequiousness,  Mr.  Boswell 
did  as  he  was  bid ;  when  the  Doctor,  pursing  his  lips  not 
to  betray  rising  risibility,  muttered  half  to  himself :  '  Run- 
ning about  in  the  middle  of  meals  !  One  would  take  you 
for  a  Branghton !' 

"  '  A  Branghton,  sir  ?'  repeated  Mr.  Boswell,  with 
earnestness  ;  '  what  is  a  Branghton,  sir  ?' 

"  '  Where  have  you  lived,  sir?'  cried  the  Doctor,  laugh- 
ing ;  '  and  what  company  have  you  kept,  not  to  know  that  ?' 

"  Mr.  Boswell  now,  doubly  curious,  yet  always  appre- 
hensive of  falling  into  some  disgrace  with  Dr.  Johnson, 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  which  he  knew  the  Doctor  could 
not  hear,  to  Mrs.  Thrale :  '  Pray,  ma'am,  what's  a 
Branghton  ?  Do  me  the  favour  to  tell  me  1  Is  it  some 
animal  hereabouts  ?' 

"  Mrs.  Thrale  only  heartily  laughed,  but  without  answer- 
ing, as  she  saw  one  of  her  guests  uneasily  fearful  of  an 
explanation.  But  Mr.  Seward  cried  :  '  I'll  tell  you, 
Boswell — I'll  tell  you  ! — if  you  will  walk  with  me  into 
the  paddock ;  only  let  us  wait  till  the  table  is  cleared,  or 
I  shall  be  taken  for  a  Branghton,  too  !' 

"  They  soon  went  off  together  ;  and  Mr.  Boswell,  no 
doubt,  was  fully  informed  of  the  road  that  had  led  to  the 
usurpation  by  which  he  had  thus  been  annoyed.  But  the 
Branghton  fabricator  took  care  to  mount  to  her  chamber 
ere  they  returned,  and  did  not  come  down  till  Mr.  Boswell 
was  gone." 

The    following    December   and   January   Miss   Burney 


88  Mrs.   Cholmondeley. 

spent  at  home.  She  paid  her  promised  visit  to  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds : 

"  We  found  the  Miss  Palmers  alone.  We  were,  for  near 
an  hour,  quite  easy,  chatty,  and  comfortable  ;  no  pointed 
speech  was  made,  and  no  starer  entered. 

"  Just  then,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Horneck  were  an- 
nounced .... 

"  Mrs.  Horneck,  as  I  found  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
is  an  exceeding  sensible,  well-bred  woman.*  Her  daughter 
is  very  beautiful ;  but  was  low-spirited  and  silent  during 
the  whole  visit.  She  was,  indeed,  very  unhappy,  as  Miss 
Palmer  informed  me,  upon  account  of  some  ill  news  she 
had  lately  heard  of  the  affairs  of  a  gentleman  to  whom 
she  is  shortly  to  be  married. 

"  Not  long  after  came  a  whole  troop,  consisting  of  Mr. 
Cholmondeley  ! — O  perilous  name  !— Miss  Cholmondeley, 
and  Miss  Fanny  Cholmondeley,  his  daughters,  and  Miss 
Forrest.  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  I  found,  was  engaged  else- 
where, but  soon  expected. 

**  Now  here  was  a  trick  of  Sir  Joshua,  to  make  me  meet 
all  these  people  ! 

"  Mr.  Cholmondeley  is  a  clergyman  ;  nothing  shining 
either  in  person  or  manners,  but  rather  somewhat  grim 
in  the  first,  and  glum  in  the  last.  Yet  he  appears  to  have 
humour  himself,  and  to  enjoy  it  much  in  others  .... 

"  Next  came  my  father,  all  gaiety  and  spirits.  Then 
Mr.  William  Burke.  Soon  after.  Sir  Joshua  returned 
home.  He  paid  his  compliments  to  everybody,  and  then 
brought  a  chair  next  mine,  and  said  : 

*  Mrs.  Horneck  was  the  wife  of  General  Horneck.  Her  two  daughters, 
Mrs.  Bunbury  and  Miss  Horneck  (afterwards  Mrs.  Clwynn),  were  celebrated 
beauties,  and  their  portraits  rank  among  the  best  productions  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds's  pencil.  Mary  Horneck  was  Goldsmith's  Jessamy  Bride,  and  became 
the  wife  of  one  of  George  IH.'s  etpierries  ;  her  sister  married  Harry  Banbury, 
'  the  graceful  and  humorous  amateur  artist,'  as  Thackeray  calls  him,  '  of  those 
days,  when  Gilray  had  but  just  begun  to  try  his  powers.' 


Talk  zvith  Sir  Joshua.  89 

"  '  So  you  were  afraid  to  come  among  us  ?' 

*'  I  don't  know  if  I  wrote  to  you  a  speech  to  that  pur- 
pose, which  I  made  to  the  Miss  Palmers  ?  and  which,  I 
suppose,  they  had  repeated  to  him.  He  went  on,  saying 
I  might  as  well  fear  hobgoblins,  and  that  I  had  only  to 
hold  up  my  head  to  be  above  them  all, 

"  After  this  address,  his  behaviour  was  exactly  what  my 
wishes  would  have  dictated  to  him,  for  my  own  ease  and 
quietness ;  for  he  never  once  even  alluded  to  my  book, 
but  conversed  rationally,  gaily,  and  serenely :  and  so  I 
became  more  comfortable  than  I  had  been  ever  since  the 
first  entrance  of  compan}^  .... 

"  Our  confab  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Mr. 
King ;  a  gentleman  who  is,  it  seems,  for  ever  with  the 
Burkes  ;  and  presently  Lord  Palmerston*  was  announced. 

"  Well,  while  this  was  going  forward,  a  violent  rapping 
bespoke,  I  was  sure,  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  and  I  ran  from 
the  standers,  and  turning  my  back  against  the  door,  looked 
over  Miss  Palmer's  cards  ;  for  you  may  well  imagine  I 
was  really  in  a  tremor  at  a  meeting  which  so  long  has 
been  in  agitation,  and  with  the  person  who,  of  all  persons, 
has  been  most  warm  and  enthusiastic  for  my  book. 

"  She  had  not,  however,  been  in  the  room  half  an 
instant,  ere  my  father  came  up  to  me,  and  tapping  me  on 
the  shoulder,  said,  '  Fanny,  here's  a  lady  who  wishes  to 
speak  to  you.' 

"  I  curtseyed  in  silence ;  she  too  curtseyed,  and  fixed 
her  eyes  full  on  my  face,  and  then  tapping  me  with  her 
fan,  she  cried  : 

"*  Come,  come,  you  must  not  look  grave  upon  me.' 

"  Upon  this,  I  te-he'd  ;  she  now  looked  at  me  yet  more 
earnestly,  and,  after  an  odd  silence,  said,  abruptly : 

*  Henry  Temple,  second  Viscount  Palmerston,  father  of  the  Prime  Minister. 


90  *  Is  it   True  ? 

"'  But  is  it  true?' 

''  '  What,  ma'am  ?' 

"  '  It  can't  be ! — tell  me,  though,  is  it  true  ?' 

"  I  could  only  simper. 

"  '  Why  don't  you  tell  me  ? — but  it  can't  be — I  don't 
believe  it  ! — no,  you  are  an  impostor !' 

"  Sir  Joshua  and  Lord  Palmerston  were  both  at  her 
side — oh,  how  notably  silly  must  I  look  !  She  again 
repeated  her  question  of  '  Is  it  true  ?'  and  I  again 
affected  not  to  understand  her  ;  and  then  Sir  Joshua, 
taking  hold  of  her  arm,  attempted  to  pull  her  away, 
saying  : 

"  '  Come,  come,  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  I  won't  have  her 
overpowered  here  !' 

"  I  love  Sir  Joshua  much  for  this.  But  Mrs.  Chol- 
mondeley, turning  to  him,  said,  with  quickness  and 
vehemence  : 

"'Why,  I  ain't  going  to  kill  her!  don't  be  afraid,  I 
shan't  compliment  her  ! — I  can't,  indeed  !'  " 

Then  came  a  scene  in  which  Mrs.  Cholmondele}-  pur- 
sued Fanny  across  the  room,  hunted  her  round  the  card- 
table,  and  finally  drove  her  to  take  refuge  behind  a  sofa, 
continually  plying  her  with  questions,  and  receiving  her 
confused  replies  with  exclamations  oiMafoi !  pardic  !  and 
other  phrases  borrowed  from  Madame  Duval.     At  length  : 

"  Mrs.  Choi.  :  My  Lord  Palmerston,  I  was  told  to-night 
that  nobody  could  see  your  lordship  for  me,  for  that  you 
supped  at  my  house  every  night  !  Dear,  bless  me,  no  ! 
cried  I,  not  every  night !  and  I  looked  as  confused  as  I 
was  able  ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  blush,  though  I  tried 
hard  for  it ! 

"  Then  again  turning  to  me  : 

"  *  That  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-him,  in   Fleet   Street,  is  a 


Mrs.   CJiolmondeley  s  Whimsical  Manner.      91 

mighty  silly  fellow ; — perhaps  you  don't  know  who  I 
mean  ? — one  T.  Lowndes, — but  maybe  you  don't  know 
such  a  person  ?' 

"  F .  B. :  No,  indeed,  I  do  not ! — that  I  can  safely  say. 

"  Mrs.  Choi.  :  I  could  get  nothing  from  him  :  but  I  told 
him  I  hoped  he  gave  a  good  price  :  and  he  answered  me, 
that  he  always  did  things  genteel.     What  trouble    and 

tagging  we  had  !     Mr. laid  a  wager  the  writer  was 

a  man  : — I  said  I  was  sure  it  was  a  woman  :  but  now  we 
are  both  out ;  for  it's  a  girl ! 

"  In  this  comical,  queer,  flighty,  whimsical  manner  she 
ran  on,  till  we  were  summoned  to  supper 

"  When  we  broke  up  to  depart,  which  was  not  till  near 
two  in  the  morning,  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  went  up  to  my 
mother,  and  begged  her  permission  to  visit  in  St.  Martin's 
Street.  Then,  as  she  left  the  room,  she  said  to  me,  with 
a  droll  sort  of  threatening  look  : 

"  '  You  have  not  got  rid  of  me  yet  :  I  have  been  forcing 
myself  into  your  house.' 

"  I  must  own  I  was  not  at  all  displeased  at  this,  as  I 
had  very  much  and  very  reasonably  feared  that  she  would 
have  been  by  then  as  sick  of  me  from  disappointment,  as 
she  was  before  eager  for  me  from  curiosity. 

*'  When  we  came  away,  Offy  Palmer,  laughing,  said  to  me : 

"  '  I  think  this  will  be  a  breaking-in  to  you  !'  " 

We  have  next  a  visit  to  the  house  of  the  persecutor : 

"  On  Monday  last,  my  father  sent  a  note  to  Mrs.  Chol- 
mondeley, to  propose  our  waiting  on  her  the  Wednesday 
following  :  she  accepted  the  proposal,  and  accordingly,  on 
Wednesday  evening,  my  father,  mother,  and  self  went  to 
Hertford  Street. 

"  I  should  have  told  you  that  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  when 
my  father  some  time  ago  called  on  her,  sent  me  a  message, 


92  Visit  to  Mrs.   C/iolmondeley. 

that  if  I  would  go  to  see  her,  I  should  not  again  be  stared 
at  or  worried  ;  and  she  acknowledged  that  my  visit  at  Sir 
Joshua's  was  a  formidable  one,  and  that  I  was  watched 
the  whole  evening  ;  but  that  upon  the  whole,  the  company 
behaved  extremely  well,  for  they  only  ogled ! 

"  Well,  we  were  received  by  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  with 
great  poHteness,  and  in  a  manner  that  showed  she  in- 
tended to  entirely  throw  aside  Madame  Duval,  and  to 
conduct  herself  towards  me  in  a  new  style. 

"  Mr.  and  the  Misses  Cholmondeley  and  Miss  Forrest 
were  with  her  ;  but  who  else  think  you  ? — why,  Mrs. 
Sheridan  !  I  was  absolutely  charmed  at  the  sight  of  her. 
I  think  her  quite  as  beautiful  as  ever,  and  even  more 
captivating  ;  for  she  has  now  a  look  of  ease  and  happiness 
that  animates  her  whole  face. 

"  Miss  Linley  was  with  her  ;  she  is  very  handsome,  but 
nothing  near  her  sister :  the  elegance  of  Mrs.  Sheridan's 
beauty  is  unequalled  by  any  I  ever  saw,  except  Mrs. 
Crewe.*  I  was  pleased  with  her  in  all  respects.  She  is 
much  more  lively  and  agreeable  than  I  had  any  idea  of 
finding  her  :  she  was  very  gay,  and  very  unaffected,  and 
totally  free  from  airs  of  any  kind. 

"  Miss  Linley  was  very  much  out  of  spirits  ;  she  did  not 
speak  three  words  the  whole  evening,  and  looked  wholly 
unmoved  at  all  that  passed.  Indeed,  she  appeared  to  be 
heav}^  and  inanimate. 

"  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  sat  next  me.  She  is  determined,  I 
believe,  to  make  me  like  her  :  and  she  will,  I  believe,  have 
full  success  ;  for  she  is  very  clever,  very  entertaining,  and 
very  much  unlike  anybody  else. 

"  The  first  subject  started  was  the  Opera,  and  all  joined 
in  the  praise  of  Pacchierotti.  Mrs.  Sheridan  declared 
she  could  not   hear  him  without  tears,  and  that  he  was 

*  Daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grcville  ;  afterwards  Lady  Crewe. 


M7\   Cumberland.  93 

the  first  Italian  singer  who  ever  affected  her  to  such  a 
degree. 

"  They  then  talked  of  the  intended  marriage  of  the 
Duke  of  Dorset  with  Miss  Cumberland,  and  many  ridicu- 
lous anecdotes  were  related.  The  conversation  naturally 
fell  upon  Mr.  Cumberland,  and  he  was  finely  cut  up  ! 

"  'What  a  man  is  that  !'  said  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  ;  '  I 
cannot  bear  him — so  querulous,  so  dissatisfied,  so  deter- 
mined to  like  nobody  and  nothing  but  himself!' 

"  '  What,  Mr.  Cumberland  ?'  exclaimed  I. 

"  '  Yes,'  answered  she  ;  '  I  hope  you  don't  like  him  ?' 

"  '  I  don't  know  him,  ma'am.  I  have  only  seen  him 
once,  at  Mrs.  Ord's.' 

"  '  Oh,  don't  like  him  for  your  fife  !  I  charge  you  not  ! 
I  hope  you  did  not  like  his  looks  ?' 

"  '  Why,'  quoth  I,  laughing,  '  I  went  prepared  and 
determined  to  like  him ;  but  perhaps,  when  I  see  him 
next,  I  may  go  prepared  for  the  contrary.' 

"  A  rat-tat-tat-tat  ensued,  and  the  Earl  of  Harcourt  was 
announced.  When  he  had  paid  his  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Cholmondeley — 

"  '  I  knew,  ma'am,'  he  said,  '  that  I  should  find  you  at 
home.' 

"  '  I  suppose  then,  my  lord,'  said  she,  '  that  you  have 
seen  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds ;  for  he  is  engaged  to  be 
here.' 

"  '  I  have,'  answered  his  lordship ;  '  and  heard  from 
him  that  I  should  be  sure  to  find  you.' 

"  And  then  he  added  some  very  fine  compliment,  but  I 
have  forgot  it. 

"'Oh,  my  lord,'  cried  she,  'you  have  the  most  dis- 
cernment of  anybody  !  His  lordship  (turning  another 
way)  always  says  these  things  to  me,  and  yet  he  never 
flatters.' 


94  ^  Hint  for  a  Comedy. 

"  Lord  Harcourt,  speaking  of  the  lady  from  whose 
house  he  was  just  come,  said  : 

"  '  Mrs.  Vesey*  is  vastl}-  agreeable,  but  her  fear  of  cere- 
mony is  really  troublesome  :  for  her  eagerness  to  break  a 
circle  is  such,  that  she  insists  upon  ever3'body's  sitting 
with  their  backs  one  to  another  ;  that  is,  the  chairs  are 
drawn  into  little  parties  of  three  together,  in  a  confused 
manner,  all  over  the  room.' 

"'Why,  then,'  said  my  father,  'they  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  caballing  and  cutting  up  one  another,  even  in 
the  same  room.' 

"'Oh,  I  like  the  notion  of  all  things,'  cried  Mrs. 
Cholmondeley  ;  '  I  shall  certainly  adopt  it  !' 

"  And  then  she  drew  her  chair  into  the  middle  of  our 
circle.  Lord  Harcourt  turned  his  round,  and  his  back  to 
most  of  us,  and  my  father  did  the  same.  You  can't 
imagine  a  more  absurd  sight. 

"Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Sheridan 
entered. 

"  Was  I  not  in  luck  ?  Not  that  I  believe  the  meeting 
was  accidental ;  but  I  had  more  wished  to  meet  him  and 
his  wife  than  any  people  I  know  not. 

"  I  could  not  endure  my  ridiculous  situation,  but  re- 
placed myself  in  an  orderly  manner  immediately.  Mr. 
Sheridan  stared  at  them  all,  and  Mrs.  Cholmondele}^  said 
she  intended  it  as  a  hint  for  a  comedy. 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  has  a  very  fine  figure,  and  a  good,  though 
I  don't  think  a  handsome,  face.  He  is  tall,  and  very  up- 
right, and  his  appearance  and  address  are  at  once  manlv 

*  Well  known  as  the  founder  of  the  has  hlcit  meetings,  and  the  author  of  the 
name.  Mr.  Eilwanl  Stillingtiect,  a  writer  on  natural  history,  who  was  one  of 
her  favourite  guests,  always  wore  blue  stockings,  and  a  phrase  used  by  her, 
'Come  in  your  blue  stockings,'  or  'We  can  do  nothing  without  the  blue 
stoikings,'  caused  the  has  bku  to  be  ridopttd  as  tlie  symbol  of  her  literary 
parties.' 


A   Charmed  Circle.  95 

and  fashionable,  without  the  smallest  tincture  of  foppery 
or  modish  graces.  In  short,  I  like  him  vastly,  and  think 
him  every  way  worthy  his  beautiful  companion. 

"  And  let  me  tell  you  what  I  know  will  give  you  as 
much  pleasure  as  it  gave  me — that,  by  all  I  could  observe 
in  the  course  of  the  evening,  and  we  stayed  very  late, 
they  are  extremely  happy  in  each  other :  he  evidently 
adores  her,  and  she  as  evidently  idolizes  him.  The  world 
has  by  no  means  done  him  justice. 

"When  he  had  paid  his  compliments  to  all  his  acquaint- 
ance, he  went  behind  the  sofa  on  which  Mrs.  Sheridan 
and  Miss  Cholmondeley  were  seated,  and  entered  into 
earnest  conversation  with  them. 

"  Upon  Lord  Harcourt's  again  paying  Mrs.  Cholmon- 
deley some  compliment,  she  said  : 

"  '  Well,  my  lord,  after  this  I  shall  be  quite  sublime  for 
some  days  !  I  shan't  descend  into  common  life  till  — till 
Saturday,  and  then  I  shall  drop  into  the  vulgar  style  —  I 
shall  be  in  the  ma  foi  way. 

"  I  do  really  believe  she  could  not  resist  this,  for  she  had 
seemed  determined  to  be  quiet. 

"When  next  there  was  a  rat-tat,  Mrs.  Cholmondeley 
and  Lord  Harcourt,  and  my  father  again,  at  the  command 
of  the  former,  moved  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
then  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  Dr.  Warton  entered. 

"  No  further  company  came.  You  may  imagine  there 
was  a  general  roar  at  the  breaking  of  the  circle,  and 
when  they  got  into  order,  Mr.  Sheridan  seated  himself  in 
the  place  Mrs.  Cholmondeley  had  left,  betv/een  my  father 
and  myself 

"  And  now  I  must  tell  you  a  little  conversation  which  I 
did  not  hear  myself  till  I  came  home ;  it  was  between 
Mr.  Sheridan  and  my  father. 

"  '  Dr.  Burney,'  cried  the  former,  '  have  you  no  older 


96  Sheridan. 

daughters  ?  Can  this  possibly  be  the  authoress  of 
'  Evehna'?' 

"  And  then  he  said  abundance  of  fine  things,  and  begged 
my  father  to  introduce  him  to  me. 

"  '  Why,  it  will  be  a  very  formidable  thing  to  her,' 
answered  he,  '  to  be  introduced  to  you.' 

"  '  Well,  then,  by-and-by,'  returned  he. 

"  Some  time  after  this,  my  eyes  happening  to  meet  his, 
he  waived  the  ceremony  of  introduction,  and  in  a  low 
voice  said  : 

"  *  I  have  been  telhng  Dr.  Burney  that  I  have  long 
expected  to  see  in  Miss  Burney  a  lady  of  the  gravest 
appearance,  with  the  quickest  parts.' 

"  I  was  never  much  more  astonished  than  at  this  un- 
expected address,  as  among  all  my  numerous  puffers  the 
name  of  Sheridan  has  never  reached  me,  and  I  did  really 
imagine  he  had  never  deigned  to  look  at  my  trash. 

"  Of  course  I  could  make  no  verbal  answer,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded then  to  speak  of  'Evelina'  in  terms  of  the  highest 
praise ;  but  I  was  in  such  a  ferment  from  surprise  (not  to 
say  pleasure),  that  I  have  no  recollection  of  his  expres- 
sions. I  only  remember  telling  him  that  I  was  much 
amazed  he  had  spared  time  to  read  it,  and  that  he  re- 
peatedly called  it  a  most  surprising  book ;  and  some  time 
after  he  added  :  '  But  I  hope.  Miss  Burney,  you  don't 
intend  to  throw  away  your  pen  ?" 

"  '  You  should  take  care,  sir,'  said  I,  'what  you  say:  for 
you  know  not  what  weight  it  may  have.' 

"  He  wished  it  might  have  any,  he  said ;  and  soon  after 
turned  again  to  my  father. 

"  I  protest,  since  the  approbation  of  the  Streathamites, 
I  have  met  with  none  so  flattering  to  me  as  this  of  Mr. 
Sheridan,  and  so  very  unexpected 

"  Some  time  after.  Sir  Joshua  returning  to  his  standing- 


Not  a  Fair  Question.  97 

place,  entered  into  confab  with  Miss  Linle\'  and  your 
slave,  upon  various  matters,  during  which  Mr.  Sheridan, 
joining  us,  said  : 

"  '  Sir  Joshua,  I  have  been  telling  Miss  Burney  that 
she  must  not  suffer  her  pen  to  lie  idle — ought  she  ?' 

"  Sir  Joshua  :  No,  indeed,  ought  she  not. 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  :  Do  you  then.  Sir  Joshua,  persuade  her. 
But  perhaps  you  have  begun  something?  May  we  ask  ? 
Will  you  answer  a  question  candidly  ? 

"  F.  B. :  I  don't  know,  but  as  candidly  as  Mrs.  Cajidonr 
I  think  I  certainly  shall. 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  :  What  then  are  you  about  now  ? 

"  F.  B.  :  Why,  twirling  my  fan,  I  think  ! 

"Mr.  Sheridan:  No,  no;  but  what  are  you  about  at 
home  ?  However,  it  is  not  a  fair  question,  so  I  won't 
press  it. 

"  Yet  he  looked  very  inquisitive  ;  but  I  was  glad  to  get 
off  without  an}'  downright  answer. 

"  Sir  Joshua  :  Anything  in  the  dialogue  way,  I  think, 
she  must  succeed  in ;  and  I  am  sure  invention  will  not  be 
wanting. 

"Mr.  Sheridan:  No,  indeed;  I  think,  and  sa}-,  she 
should  write  a  comedy. 

"  Sir  Joshua  :  I  am  sure  I  think  so  ;  and  hope  she  will. 

"  I  could  only  answer  by  incredulous  exclamations. 

"  '  Consider,'  continued  Sir  Joshua,  '  you  have  alread}' 
had  all  the  applause  and  fame  you  can  have  given  you  in 
the  closet  ;  but  the  acclamation  of  a  theatre  will  be  new 
to  you.' 

"  And  then  he  put  down  his  trumpet,  and  began  a 
violent  clapping  of  his  hands. 

"  I  actually  shook  from  head  to  foot  !  I  felt  myself 
already  in  Drury  Lane,  amidst  the  hubbub  of  a  first 
night. 

7 


98  Pressed  to    ]Vrite  for  the  Stage. 

'"Oh  no!'  cried  I;  'there  may  be  a  noise,  but  it 
will  be  just  the  reverse.'  And  I  returned  his  salute  with 
a  hissing. 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  joined  Sir  Joshua  very  warmly. 

"Oh,  sir!'  cried  I;  'you  should  not  run  on  so — you 
don't  know  what  mischief  you  may  do  !' 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  :  I  wish  I  ma}- — I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
be  accessory." 

We  gather  from  the  remarks  made  by  Mrs.  Chol- 
mondeley  and  Sheridan  in  the  preceding  extracts  that 
Miss  Burney  at  this  time  looked  much  younger  than  she 
really  was.  With  her  low  stature,  slight  figure,  and  timid 
air,  she  did  not  seem  quite  the  woman.  Probably  this 
youthful  appearance  may  have  helped  to  set  atioat  the 
rumour  which  confounded  the  age  of  her  heroine  with  her 
own.  An  unmarried  lady  of  six-and-twenty  could  hardly 
be  expected  to  enter  a  formal  plea  of  not  guilty  to  the 
charge  of  being  only  a  girl ;  yet  we  shall  see  presently  that 
Mrs.  Thrale  was  pretty  well  informed  as  to  the  number  of 
Fanny's  years. 

Some  readers  may  be  tempted  to  think  that,  with  all 
her  coyness,  she  was  enraptured  by  the  pursuit  of  her 
admirers.  This  is  only  to  say  that  she  was  a  woman. 
We  must  remember,  moreover,  that  the  Diary  which 
betrays  her  feelings  was  not  written  with  any  design  of 
publication,  but  consisted  of  private  letters,  addressed 
chiefly  to  her  sister  Susan,  and  intended  to  be  shown  to 
no  one  out  of  her  own  family,  save  her  attached  Daddy 
Crisp.  '  If,'  says  Macaulay  very  fairly,  '  she  recorded 
with  minute  diligence  all  the  compliments,  delicate  and 
coarse,  which  she  heard  wherever  she  turned,  she  recorded 
them  for  the  eyes  of  two  or  three  persons  who  had  loved 
her  from  infancy,  who  had  loved  her  in  obscurity,  and  to 


Flattered  by  Compliments.  99 

whom  her  fame  gave  the  purest  and  most  exquisite  delight. 
Nothing  can  be  more  unjust  than  to  confound  these  out- 
pouring of  a  kind  heart,  sure  of  perfect  sympathy,  with 
the  egotism  of  a  blue  stocking,  who  prates  to  all  who 
come  near  her  about  her  own  novel  or  her  own  volume 
of  sonnets.' 


7—2 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Return  to  Streatham — Murphy  the  Dramatist — A  Proposed  Comedy — '  The 
Witlings' — Adverse  Judgment  of  Mr.  Crisp  and  Dr.  Burney^Fanny  to 
Mr.  Crisp — Dr.  Johnson  on  Miss  Burney — A  Visit  to  Brighton — Cumberland 
—  An  Eccentric  Character — Sir  Joshua's  Prices — Tragedies — Actors  and 
Singers — Regrets  for  the  Comedy — Crisp's  Reply — The  Lawrence  Family 
at  Devizes — Lady  Miller's  Vase— The  Gordon  Riots — Precipitate  Retreat  — 
Grub  Street — Sudden  Death  of  Mr.  Thrale — Idleness  and  Work — A  Sister 
of  the  Craft — The  Mausoleum  of  Julia — Progress  of  '  Cecilia  '  through  the 
Press — Crisp's  Judgment  on  '  Cecilia  '• — Johnson  and  '  Cecilia  ' — Publica- 
tion of  'Cecilia' — Burke — His  Letter  to  Miss  Burney — Assembly  at  Miss 
Monckton's — New  Acquaintances — Soame  Jenyns — Illness  and  Death  of 
Crisp— Mrs.  Thrale's  Struggles — Ill-health  of  Johnson — Mr.  Burney  Organist 
of  Chelsea  Hospital — Mrs.  Thrale  marries  Piozzi — Last  Interview  with 
Johnson — His  Death. 

In  February,  1779,  Miss  Burney  returned  to  Streatham. 
A  bedroom  was  set  apart  for  her  exclusive  use.  She 
became  almost  as  much  a  recognised  member  of  the 
family  as  Dr.  Johnson  had  for  many  years  been.  Nearly 
all  the  remainder  of  1779  was  spent  with  her  new  friends, 
either  at  Streatham,  Tunbridge  Wells,  or  Brighton.  Her 
father  could  scarcely  regain  possession  of  her,  even  for  a 
few  days,  without  a  friendly  battle.  Johnson  always  took 
the  side  of  the  resisting  party.  In  one  of  these  contests, 
when  Bnrney  urged  that  she  had  been  away  from  home 
too  long:  '  Sir,'  cried  Johnson,  sei;jing  both  her  hands  to 
detain  her, '  I  do  not  think  it  long;  I  would  have  her  always 
come  !  and  never  go  !'  In  b^ebruary,  the  first  new  face  she 
saw  at  Mrs.  Thrale's  was  that  of  Arthur  Murphy,*  play- 

*  1730-1805.     A  native  of  Elphin,  in  Ireland  ;  was  educated  at  St.  Omer's  ; 
gave  up  the  trade  on  which  he  had  entered  fur  literature  ;  published  the  Grav'^ 


Murphy  the  Dramatist.  loi 

Wright  and  translator  of  Tacitus.  Mrs.  Thrale  charged 
her  to  make  herself  agreeable  to  this  gentleman,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  stage  might  be  of  service  to  her  in  rela- 
tion to  the  comed}^  which  her  friends  were  urging  her  to 
write.  The  exhortation  was  unneeded,  for  almost  the 
first  words  uttered  by  Murphy  in  her  presence  won 
Fanny's  heart.  Mrs.  Thrale,  missing  Dr.  Burney,  who 
after  his  weekl}'  lesson  had  returned  to  town  without 
taking  leave,  inveighed  against  him  as  a  male  coquet  :  he 
only,  she  said,  gave  enough  of  his  company  to  excite  a 
desire  for  more.    Murphy  was  ready  with  his  compliment. 

'  Dr.  Burney,'  he  replied,  '  is  indeed  a  most  extraordinary 
man ;  I  think  I  don't  know  such  another  :  he  is  at  home 
upon  all  subjects,  and  upon  all  so  agreeable  !  he  is  a  won- 
derful man.' 

Noting  down  this  pretty  speech  led  the  diarist  to  record 
some  words  which  had  passed  between  Johnson  and  her- 
self on  the  same  theme  : 

"  '  I  love  Burney,'  said  the  Doctor  ;  '  m}-  heart  goes  out 

to  meet  him.' 

"  '  He  is  not  ungrateful,  sir,'  cried  I  :  '  for  most  heartily 

does  he  love  you.' 

"  '  Does  he,  madam  ?     I  am  surprised  at  that.' 

"  '  Why,  sir  ?     Why  should  you  have  doubted  it  ?' 

"  '  Because,   madam.  Dr.  Burney  is  a  man  for  all  the 

world  to  love  ;  it  is  but  natural  to  love  him." 

"  I  could  almost  have  cried  with  delight  at  this  cordial, 

unlaboured  cloge.'" 

An  admirer  of  her  father  was  a  man  whom  Fanny  could 
trust  at  once,  and  she  soon  had  confidences  with  Murphy, 

Inn  Journal  from  1752  to  1754  ;  went  on  the  stage,  wrotedramas,  and  engaged 
in  politics  ;  at  last  became  a  barrister,  and  died  a  Commissioner  of  Bankrupts. 
He  produced  twenty-three  plays,  of  which  the  '  Grecian  Daughter '  was  the 
most  popular.     His  translation  of  Tacitus  had  great  repute  in  its  day. 


I02  A  Proposed  Comedy. 

as  well  as  with  Johnson,  on  the  subject  of  her  projected 
play.  In  May,  the  first  draft  was  submitted  to  the  former, 
who  bestowed  on  it  abundance  of  flattery.  Mrs.  Thrale 
also  was  warm  in  its  praise.  But  the  piece,  when  finished, 
had  to  be  submitted  to  critics  who  felt  a  deeper  interest, 
and  a  stronger  sense  of  responsibility.  The  manuscript 
was  carried  by  Dr.  Burney  to  Crisp  at  Chesington,  and  the 
two  old  friends  sat  in  council  on  it.  "  I  should  like,"  wrote 
Fanny  to  Crisp,  "  that  your  first  reading  should  have 
nothing  to  do  with  me — that  you  should  go  quick  through 
it,  or  let  my  father  read  it  to  you — forgetting  all  the  time, 
as  much  as  you  can,  that  Fannikin  is  the  writer,  or  even 
that  it  is  a  play  in  manuscript,  and  capable  of  alterations; — 
and,  then,  when  you  have  done,  I  should  like  to  have  three 
lines,  telling  me,  as  nearly  as  you  can  trust  my  candour, 
its  general  eifect.  After  that  take  it  to  your  own  desk,  and 
lash  it  at  your  leisure.  Adieu,  my  dear  daddy  !  I  shall 
hope  to  hear  from  }ou  very  soon,  and  pray  believe  me 
yours  ever  and  ever." 

The  comedy  was  intended  to  be  called  'The  Witlings,' 
and  seems  to  have  borne  a  strong  resemblance  to  the 
Femmes  Savantes.  We  have  not  the  letter  containing 
Crisp's  judgment,  but  he  told  his  disciple  plainly  that 
her  production  would  be  condemned  as  a  pale  copy  of 
Moliere's  piece.  We  gather  also  from  subsequent  corre- 
spondence that  both  he  and  Dr.  Burney  felt  'The  Witlings,' 
to  be  a  failure,  even  when  considered  on  its  own  merits. 
It  was  some  consolation  to  Fanny  that  she  had  never 
read  Moliere,  but  she  sought  no  saving  for  her  self-love. 
Here  is  her  answer  to  her  daddy  : 

"Well!  'there  are  plays  that  arc  to  be  saved,  and 
plays  that  are  not  to  be  saved  !'  so  good-night,  Mr. 
Dabbler! — good-night,  Lady  Smatter, — Mrs.  Sapient. — 


A  Letter  to  Daddy.  103 

Mrs.  Voluble, — Mrs.  Wheedle, — Censor, — Cecilia, — Beau- 
fort,—  and  you,  you  great  oaf,  Bobby  ! — good-night!  good- 
night ! 

And  good-morning,  Miss  Fanny  Burney ! — I  hope  now 
you  have  opened  your  eyes  for  some  time,  and  will  not 
close  them  in  so  drowsy  a  fit  again— at  least  till  the  full 
of  the  moon. 

I  won't  tell  you  I  have  been  absolutely  ravie  with 
delight  at  the  fall  of  the  curtain  ;  but  I  intend  to  take  the 
affair  in  the  tant  mienx  manner,  and  to  console  myself  for 
your  censure  b}^  this  greatest  proof  I  have  ever  received 
of  the  sincerity,  candour,  and,  let  me  add,  esteem,  of  my 
dear  daddy.  And  as  I  happen  to  love  myself  rather  more 
than  my  play,  this  consolation  is  not  a  ver}^  trifling  one. 

As  to  all  3'ou  say  of  my  reputation  and  so  forth,  I 
perceive  the  kindness  of  your  endeavours  to  put  me  in 
humour  with  myself,  and  prevent  my  taking  huff,  which 
if  I  did,  I  should  deserve  to  receive,  upon  any  future  trial, 
hollow  praise  from  you — and  the  rest  from  the  public. 

As  to  the  MS.,  I  am  in  no  hurry  for  it.  Besides,  it 
ought  not  to  come  till  I  have  prepared  an  ovation,  and 
the  honours  of  conquest  for  it. 

The  onl}^  bad  thing  in  this  affair  is,  that  I  cannot  take 
the  comfort  of  my  poor  friend  Dabbler,  by  calling  you  a 
crabbed  fellow,  because  you  write  with  almost  more  kind- 
ness than  ever  ;  neither  can  I  (though  I  try  hard)  persuade 
myself  that  you  have  not  a  grain  of  taste  in  your  whole 
composition. 

This,  however,  seriously  I  do  believe, — that  when  my 
two  daddies  put  their  heads  together  to  concert  for  me 
that  hissing,  groaning,  catcalling  epistle  they  sent  me 
they  felt  as  sorry  for  poor  little  Miss  Bayes  as  she  could 
possibly  do  for  herself. 

You  see  I  do  not  attempt  to  repa}-  your  frankness  with 


I04  Dr.  Johnson  and  Fanny  Biirney. 

the  art  of  pretended  carelessness.  But  though  somewhat 
disconcerted  just  now,  I  will  promise  not  to  let  my  vexa- 
tion live  out  another  day.  I  shall  not  browse  upon  it,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  drive  it  out  of  my  thoughts,  by  filling 
them  up  with  things  almost  as  good  of  other  people's. 

Our  Hettina  is  much  better ;  but  pray  don't  keep 
Mr.  B.  beyond  Wednesday,  for  Mrs.  Thrale  makes  a 
point  of  my  returning  to  Streatham  on  Tuesday,  unless, 
which  God  forbid,  poor  Hetty  should  be  worse  again. 

Adieu,  my  dear  daddy,  I  won't  be  mortified,  and  I 
won't  be  doivned, — but  I  will  be  proud  to  find  I  have,  out 
of  my  own  family,  as  well  as  in  it,  a  friend  who  loves  me 
well  enough  to  speak  plain  truth  to  me. 

Always  do  thus,  and  always  you  shall  be  tried  by. 
Your  much  obliged 

And  most  affectionate, 

Frances  Burney." 

The  manuscript  comedy  does  not  appear  to  have  been 
shown  to  Dr.  Johnson.  This  was  not  for  want  of  en- 
couragement. He  was  extremely  willing  to  read  it,  or 
have  it  read  to  him,  but  desired  that  his  opinion  should 
be  taken  before  that  of  Murphy,  who  was  to  judge  of  the 
stage  effect,  and  as  the  latter  had  already  offered  his 
services,  the  scrupulous  author  felt  that  this  could  not  be. 
Fanny  continued  to  grow  in  favour  with  Johnson.  His 
expressions  of  affection  became  stronger,  his  eulogy  of  her 
novel  more  unmeasured. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  on  one  occasion,  "  none  like  her,  nor 
do  I  believe  there  is,  or  there  ever  was,  a  man  who  could 
write  such  a  book  so  young." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  Pope  was  no  older 
than  Miss  Burney  when  he  wrote  '  Windsor  Forest;'*  and 
I  suppose  '  Windsor  Forest '  is  equal  to  '  Evelina  !'  " 

*  In  January,  1779,  ^^''•'^'  Thrale  wrote  to  Fanny  :  "  Vou  are  twenty  odd 
years  old,  and  I  am  past  thirty-six." 


Vjsii  to  Bright 071.  105 

'  Windsor  Forest,'  though,  according  to  Pope  himself, 
it  was  in  part  written  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  was  finished 
and  pubHshed  when  the  poet  was  twenty -five.  But 
Johnson  would  by  no  means  allow  that  'Windsor  Forest ' 
was  so  remarkable  a  work  as  '  Evelina.'  The  latter,  he 
said,  seemed  a  work  that  should  result  from  long  experi- 
ence and  deep  and  mtimate  knowledge  of  the  world ;  3^et 
it  had  been  written  without  either. 

"  Miss  Burney,"  added  the  sage,  "  is  a  real  wonder. 
What  she  is,  she  is  intuitively.  Dr.  Burney  told  me  she 
had  had  the  fewest  advantages  of  any  of  his  daughters, 
from  some  peculiar  circumstances.  And  such  has  been 
her  timidity,  that  he  himself  had  not  any  suspicion  of 
her  powers." 

About  this  time,  Johnson  began  teaching  his  favourite 
Latin,  an  attention  with  which  she  would  gladly  have 
dispensed,  thinking  it  an  injury  to  be  considered  a  learned 
lady. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year.  Miss  Burney  accompanied 
the  Thrales  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  and  thence  to  Brighton. 
Her  Diary  contains  some  lively  sketches  of  incidents 
on  the  Pantiles  and  the  Steyne,  for  which  we  cannot 
find  space.  At  Brighton  she  encountered  Sir  Fretful 
Plagiary : 

"  '  It  has  been,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale  warmly,  '  all  I  could 
do  not  to  affront  Mr.  Cumberland  to-night !' 

"  '  Oh,  I  hope  not !'  cried  I  ;  '  I  would  not  have  you  for 
the  world !' 

"  '  Why,  I  have  refrained  ;  but  with  great  difficulty  !' 

"And  then  she  told  me  the  conversation  she  had  just 
had  with  him.  As  soon  as  I  made  off,  he  said,  with  a 
spiteful  tone  of  voice  : 

"  '  Oh,  that  young  lady  is  an  author,  I  hear !' 


io6  A7t  Eccentric  Character. 

"  'Yes,'  answered  Mrs.  Thrale,  'author  of  Evelina  !' 

"  '  Humph — I  am  told  it  has  some  humour  !' 

"  *  Ay,  indeed  !  Johnson  says  nothing  like  it  has  ap- 
peared for  years  !" 

"  'So,'  cried  he,  biting  his  lips,  and  waving  uneasih'  in 
his  chair,  '  so,  so  !' 

"  '  Yes,'  continued  she  ;  '  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
told  Mr.  Thrale  he  would  give  fifty  pounds  to  know  the 
author  !' 

"  'So,  so — oh,  vastly  well!'  cried  he,  putting  his  hand 
on  his  forehead. 

"  '  Nay,'  added  she,  '  Burke  himself  sat  up  all  night  to 
finish  it  !' 

"  This  seemed  quite  too  much  for  him  :  he  put  both  his 
hands  to  his  face,  and  waving  backwards  and  forwards, 
said  : 

"  'Oh,  vastly  well  ! — -this  will  do  for  anything!'  with  a 
tone  as  much  as  to  say.  Pray,  no  more  !  Then  Mrs. 
Thrale  bid  him  good-night,  longing,  she  said,  to  call  Miss 
Thrale  first,  and  sa}^;  'So  3'ou  won't  speak  to  my  daughter? 
— why,  she  is  no  author  !'  " 

At  another  time,  Mrs.  Thrale  said  : 

'  Let  him  be  tormented,  if  such  things  can  torment 
him.  For  my  part  I'd  have  a  starling  taught  to  halloo 
'  Evelina  ' ! 

At  Brighton,  also,  Miss  Burney  met  with  one  of  those 
humorous  characters  which  her  pen  loved  to  describe : 

"  I  must  now  have  the  honour  to  present  to  you  a  new- 
acquaintance,  who  this  day  dined  here — Mr.  B y,  an 

Irish  gentleman,  late  a  commissary  in  Germany.  He  is 
between  si.xty  and  seventy,  but  means  to  pass  for  about 
thirty  ;  gallant,  complaisant,  obsequious,  and  humble  to 


A71  Eccentric  Character.  107 

the  fair  sex,  for  whom  he  has  an  awful  reverence ;  but 
when  not  immediately  addressing  them,  swaggering, 
blustering,  puffing,  and  domineering.  These  are  his  two 
apparent  characters  ;  but  the  real  man  is  worthy,  moral, 
religious,  though  conceited  and  parading. 

"  He  is  as  fond  of  quotations  as  my  poor  'Lady  Smatter,'' 
and,  like  her,  knows  little  beyond  a  song,  and  alwa3-s 
blunders  about  the  author  of  that His  whole  con- 
versation consists  in  little  French  phrases,  picked  up 
during  his  residence  abroad,  and  in  anecdotes  and  story- 
telling, which  are  sure  to  be  re-told  daily  and  daily  in  the 
same  words 

"  Speaking  of  the  ball  in  the  evening,  to  which  we  were 
all  going,  'Ah,  madam!'  said  he  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  'there 
was  a  time  when — tol-de-rol,  tol-de-rol  [rising,  and  dancing 
and  singing] ,  tol-de-rol ! — I  could  dance  with  the  best  of 
them ;  but,  now  a  man,  forty  and  upwards,  as  my  Lord 
Ligonier  used  to  say  —  but  —  tol-de-rol  ! — there  was  a 
time  !' 

"'Ay,   so  there  was,   Mr.  B y,'   said   Mrs.   Thrale, 

'  and  I  think  3^ou  and  I  together  made  a  very  venerable 
appearance !' 

"  '  Ah  !  madam,  I  remember  once,  at  Bath,  I  was  called 
out  to  dance  with  one  of  the  finest  young  ladies  I  e\'er 
saw,  I  was  just  preparing  to  do  my  best,  when  a  gentle- 
man of  my  acquaintance  was  so  cruel  as  to  whisper  me — 

*  B y !  the  eyes  of  all  Europe  are  upon  you  !'— for  that 

was  the  phrase  of  the  times.     'B yP  says  he,  'the 

eyes  of  all  Europe  are  upon  you  !' — I  vow,  ma'am,  enough 
to  make  a  man  tremble  ! — tol-de-rol,  tol-de-rol !  [dancing] 
— the  eyes  of  all  Europe  are  upon  you  ! — I  declare,  ma'am, 
enough  to  put  a  man  out  of  countenance !" 

"  Dr.  Delap,  who  came  here  some  time  after,  was  speak- 
ing of  Horace. 


io8  All  Eccentric  Character. 

"  '  Ah  !  madam,'  cried  Mr.  B y,  '  this  Latin — things 

of  that  kind — we  waste  our  youth,  ma'am,  in  these  vain 
studies.  For  my  part,  I  wish  I  had  spent  mine  in  study- 
ing French  and  Spanish — more  useful,  ma'am.  But,  bless 
me,  ma'am,  what  time  have  I  had  for  that  kind  of  thing? 
Travelling  here,  over  the  ocean,  hills  and  dales,  ma'am — 
reading  the  great  book  of  the  world  —  poor  ignorant 
mortals,  ma'am — no  time  to  do  anything.' 

**  '  Ay,  Mr.  B^ — — -y,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  I  remember  how 
you  downed  Beauclerk  and  Hamilton,  the  wits,  once  at 
our  house,  when  they  talked  of  ghosts  !' 

"  '  Ah  !  ma'am,  give  me  a  brace  of  pistols,  and  I  warrant 
I'll  manage  a  ghost  for  you  !  Not  but  Providence  may 
please  to  send  little  spirits  —  guardian  angels,  ma'am  —  to 
watch  us  :  that  I  can't  speak  about.  It  would  be  pre- 
sumptuous, ma'am — for  what  can  a  poor,  ignorant  mortal 
know  ?' 

"  'Ay,  so  you  told  Beauclerk  and  Hamilton.' 

"  '  Oh  yes,  ma'am.  Poor  human  beings  can't  account 
for  anything — and  call  themselves  esprits  forts.  I  vow  'tis 
presumptuous,  ma'am  !  Esprits  forts,  indeed  !  they  can 
see  no  farther  than  their  noses,  poor,  ignorant  mortals ! 
Here's  an  admiral,  and  here's  a  prince,  and  here's  a  general, 
and  here's  a  dipper — and  poor  Smoker,  the  bather,  ma'am  ! 
What's  all  this  strutting  about,  and  that  kind  of  thing? 
and  then  they  can't  account  for  a  blade  of  grass  !' 

"  After  this.  Dr.  Johnson  being  mentioned, 

"  '  Ay,'  said  he,  '  I'm  sorry  he  did  not  come  down  with 
you.  I  liked  him  better  than  those  others:  not  much  of 
a  hne  gentleman,  indeed,  but  a  clever  fellow — a  deal  of 
knowledge — got  a  deuced  good  understanding  !'.... 

"  I  am  absolutely  almost  ill  with  laughing.     This  Mr. 

B y  half  convulses  me  ;  yet  I  cannot  make  you  laugh 

by  writing  his  speeches,  because  it  is  the  manner  which 


Sir  Jos/mas  Prices.  1 09 

accompanies  them  that,  more  than  the  matter,  renders 
them  so  peculiarly  ridiculous.  His  extreme  pomposity, 
the  solemn  stiffness  of  his  person,  the  conceited  twinkling 
of  his  little  old  eyes,  and  the  quaint  importance  of  his 
delivery,  are  so  much  more  like  some  pragmatical  old 
coxcomb  represented  on  the  stage,  than  like  anything  in 
real  and  common  life,  that  I  think,  were  I  a  man,  I  should 
sometimes  be  betrayed  into  clapping  him  for  acting  so 
well.  As  it  is,  I  am  sure  no  character  in  any  comedy  I 
ever  saw  has  made  me  laugh  more  extravagantl}'. 

"  He  dines  and  spends  the  evening  here  constantly,  to 
my  great  satisfaction, 

"At  dinner,  when  Mrs.  Thrale  offers  him  a  seat  next 
her,  he  regularly  says  : 

*'  '  But  where  are  les  charmantcs  ?'  meaning  Miss  T.  and 
me.     '  I  can  do  nothing  till  they  are  accommodated  !' 

*'  And,  whenever  he  drinks  a  glass  of  wine,  he  never 
fails  to  touch  either  Mrs.  Thrale's  or  my  glass,  with 
*  est-il-permis  ?' 

**But  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  so  courteous,  he  is 
proud  to  a  most  sublime  excess,  and  thinks  every  person 
to  whom  he  speaks  honoured  beyond  measure  by  his 
notice, — nay,  he  does  not  even  look  at  anybody  without 
evidently  displaying  that  such  notice  is  more  the  effect  of 
his  benign  condescension,  than  of  any  pretension  on  their 
part  to  deserve  such  a  mark  of  his  perceiving  their  exist- 
ence.     But  you  will  think  me  mad  about  this  man  .... 

"  As  he  is  notorious  for  his  contempt  of  all  artists,  whom 
he  looks  upon  with  little  more  respect  than  upon  da}- 
labourers,  the  other  day,  when  painting  was  discussed,  he 
spoke  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  as  if  he  had  been  upon  a 
level  with  a  carpenter  or  farrier. 

"  '  Did  you  ever,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  see  his  Nativity?' 

"  '  No,  madam, — but  I  know  his  pictures  very  well  :   I 


no  Tragedies. 


'is' 


knew  him  many  years  ago,  in  Minorca ;  he  drew  my 
picture  there,  and  then  he  knew  how  to  take  a  moderate 
price  ;  but  now,  I  vow,  ma'am,  'tis  scandalous — scanda- 
lous indeed  !  to  pay  a  fellow  here  seventy  guineas  for 
scratching  out  a  head  !' 

"  '  Sir  !'  cried  Dr.  Delap,*  'you  must  not  run  down  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  because  he  is  Miss  Burney's  friend." 

"  '  Sir,^  answered  he,  '  I  don't  want  to  run  the  man 
down;  I  like  him  well  enough  in  his  proper  place;  he  is 
as  decent  as  any  man  of  that  sort  I  ever  knew;  but  for  all 
that,,  sir,  his  prices  are  shameful.  Why,  he  would  not 
[looking  at  the  poor  Doctor  with  an  enraged  contempt^ — he 
would  not  do  your  head  under  seventy  guineas  !* 

"  '  Well,'  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  '  he  had  one  portrait  at  the 
last  Exhibition,  that  I  think  hardly  could  be  paid  enough 
for ;  it  was  of  a  Mr.  Stuart ;  I  had  never  done  admir- 
ing it.' 

"  '  What  stuff  is  this,  ma'am  !'  cried  Mr.  B y :  '  how 

can  two  or  three  dabs  of  paint  ever  be  worth  such  a  sum 
as  that  ?' 

"  '  Sir,'  said  Mr.  Selwyn  (always  willing  to  draw  him 
out),  '  you  know  not  how  much  he  is  improved  since  you 
knew  him  in  Minorca;  he  is  now  the  finest  painter,  per- 
haps, in  the  world.' 

"  '  Pho,  pho,  sir  1'  cried  he,  '  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  you, 
Mr.  Selwyn,  who  have  seen  so  many  capital  pictures 
abroad  ?' 

"'Come,  come,  sir,'  said  the  ever  odd  Dr.  Delap,  'you 
must  not  go  on  so  undervaluing  him,  for,  I  tell  you,  he  is 
a  friend  of  Miss  Burney's.' 

"  '  Sir,'  said  Mr.  B y,  '  I  tell  you  again  I  have  no 

objection  to  the  man ;  I  have  dined  in  his  company  two 

*  John  Dtlap,  D.D.  (1725-1812),  poet  and  dramatist.  After  being  cunUe 
to  Mason,  the  poet,  he  lickl  livii;|js  in  Sussex,  anil  wrote  niuiierous  poems  and 
tragedies,  all  of  which  liave  long  been  forgotten. 


■i^J<i)ncl 


SJhcqphUcL  Calmer. 


^_,^^„li..^C 


Actors  and  Singers.  1 1 1 

•or  three  times ;  a  very  decent  man  he  is,  fit  to  keep  com- 
pany with  gentlemen ;  but,  ma'am,  what  are  all  your 
modern  dabblers  put  together  to  one  ancient  ?  Nothing ! 
— a  set  of — not  a  Rubens  among  them  !  I  vow,  ma'am, 
not  a  Rubens  among  them  !'..., 

"  Whenever  plays  are  mentioned,  we  have  also  a  regular 
speech  about  them. 

"  '  I  never,'  he  says,  '  go  to  a  tragedy, — it's  too  affect- 
ing ;  tragedy  enough  in  real  life  :  tragedies  are  only  fit  for 
fair  females ;  for  my  part,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  Othello 
tearing  about  in  that  violent  manner  ; — and  fair  little 
Desdemona — ma'am,  'tis  too  affecting !  to  see  your  kings 
and  your  princes  tearing  their  pretty  locks, — oh,  there's 
no  standing  it  !  'A  straw-crown'd  monarch,' — what  is 
that,  Mrs.  Thrale  ? 

'  A  straw-crown'd  monarch  in  mock  majesty.' 

I  can't  recollect  now  where  that  is  ;  but  for  my  part,  I 
really  cannot  bear  to  see  such  sights.  And  then  out  come 
the  white  handkerchiefs,  and  all  their  pretty  eyes  are 
wiping,  and  then  come  poison  and  daggers,  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing, — Oh,  ma'am,  'tis  too  much  ;  but  yet  the  fair 
tender  hearts,  the  pretty  little  females,  all  like  it !' 

"  This  speech,  word  for  word,  I  have  already  heard  from 
him  literally  four  times. 

"  When  Mr.  Garrick  was  mentioned,  he  honoured  him 
with  much  the  same  style  of  compliment  as  he  had  done 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

"  '  Ay,  ay,'  said  he,  *  that  Garrick  is  another  of  those 
fellows  that  people  run  mad  about.  Ma'am,  'tis  a  shame 
to  think  of  such  things  !  an  actor  living  like  a  person  of 
quality!  scandalous!   I  vow,  scandalous  !' 

"'Well, — commend  me  to  Mr.  B y!'    cried    Mrs. 

Thrale,  '  for  he  is  your  only  man  to  put  down  all  the 
people  that  everybody  else  sets  up.' 


112  Regi'ets  for  the  Comedy. 

"  '  Why,  ma'am,'  answered  he,  '  I  like  all  these  people 
very  well  in  their  proper  places ;  but  to  see  such  a  set  of 
poor  beings  living  like  persons  of  qualit}', — "tis  prepos- 
terous !  common  sense,  madam,  common  sense  is  against 
that  kind  of  thing.  As  to  Garrick,  he  is  a  very  good 
mimic,  an  entertaining  fellow  enough,  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing ;  but  for  an  actor  to  live  like  a  person  of  quality- — 
oh,  scandalous  !' 

"  Some  time  after,  the  musical  tribe  was  mentioned. 
He  was  at  cards  at  the  time  with  Mr.  Selwyn,  Dr.  Delap, 
and  Mr,  Thrale,  while  we  '  fair  females,'  as  he  always 
calls  us,  were  speaking  of  Agujari.  He  constrained  him- 
self from  flying  out  as  long  as  he  was  able  ;  but  upon  our 
mentioning  her  having  fift}'  pounds  a  song,  he  suddenly, 
in  a  great  rage,  called  out,  '  Catgut  and  rosin  ! — ma'am, 
'tis  scandalous  !' 

"  We  all  laughed,  and  Mr.  Selwyn,  to  provoke  him  on, 
said  : 

"  '  W'hy,  sir,  how  shall  we  part  with  our  money  better  ?' 

"  '  Oh  fie !  fie !'  cried  he,  '  I  have  not  patience  to  hear 
of  such  folly ;  common  sense,  sir,  common  sense  is  against 
it.  Why,  now,  there  was  one  of  these  fellows  at  Bath  last 
season,  a  Mr.  Rauzzini,* — I  vow  I  longed  to  cane  him 
every  day !  such  a  work  made  with  him  !  all  the  fair 
females  sighing  for  him  !  enough  to  make  a  man  sick !' "' 

At  the  beginning  of  1780,  Miss  Burney  was  troubled 
about  her  suppressed  comedy.     She  wrote  to  Mr.  Crisp : 

"As  my  play  was  settled,  I  entreated  my  father  to 
call  on  Mr.  Sheridan,  in  order  to  prevent  his  expecting 

*  An  Italian  composer  and  siny;er.  Horn  at  Rome  in  1747  ;  came  to 
England  in  1774;  adopted  the  profession  of  singing-master  in  1777  ;  settled 
permanently  at  Bath  in  1787,  and  died  there  in  1810.  He  was  the  author  of 
several  Operas,  and  counted  Hrahani  among  his  pupils. 


Sheridan  s  Remonstrance.  1 13 

anything  from  me,  as  he  had  had  a  good  right  to  do, 
from  m}^  having  sent  him  a  positive  message  that  I 
should,  in  compHance  with  his  exhortations  at  Mrs. 
Cholmondeley's,  try  my  fortune  in  the  theatrical  line, 
and  send  him  a  piece  for  this  winter.  My  father  did  call, 
but  found  him  not  at  home,  neither  did  he  happen  to  see 
him  till  about  Christmas.  He  then  acquainted  him  that 
what  I  had  written  had  entirely  dissatisfied  me,  and  that 
I  desired  to  decline  for  the  present  all  attempts  of  that 
sort. 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  was  pleased  to  express  great  concern, — 
nay,  more,  to  protest  he  would  not  accept  my  refusal.  He 
begged  my  father  to  tell  me  that  he  could  take  no  denial 
to  seeing  what  I  had  done — that  I  could  be  no  fair  judge 
for  myself— that  he  doubted  not  but  what  it  would  please, 
but  was  glad  I  was  not  satisfied,  as  he  had  much  rather 
see  pieces  before  their  authors  were  contented  with  them 
than  afterwards,  on  account  of  sundry  small  changes 
always  necessary  to  be  made  by  the  managers,  for  theatri- 
cal purposes,  and  to  which  they  were  loth  to  submit  when 
their  writings  were  finished  to  their  own  approbation.  In 
short,  he  said  so  much,  that  m}-  father,  ever  eas}-  to  be 
worked  upon,  began  to  waver,  and  told  me  he  wished  I 
would  show  the  play  to  Sheridan  at  once." 

As  the  result  of  this,  Fanny  conceived  a  plan  for  re\is- 
ing  and  altering  her  piece,  which  she  submitted  to  her 
daddy.     Crisp  answered  : 

"  The  pla}?-  has  wit  enough  and  enough — but  the  storv 
and  the  incidents  don't  appear  to  me  interesting  enough  to 
seize  and  keep  hold  of  the  attention  and  eager  expectations 
of  the  generality  of  audiences.  This,  to  me,  is  its  capital 
defect."  He  went  on  to  suggest  that  this  fault,  being 
fundamental,    admitted    of    no    remedy.     And    then    in 

8 


1 1 4  The  Lazurence  Family  at  Devizes. 

reference  to  a  proposed  trip  to  Italy,  he  added:  "They 
tell  me  of  a  delightful  tour  you  are  to  make  this  autumn 
on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale, 
Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Murphy,  etc.  Where  will  you  find  such 
another  set  ?  Oh,  Fanny,  set  this  down  as  the  happiest 
period  of  your  life ;  and  when  you  come  to  be  old  and  sick, 
and  health  and  spirits  .are  fled  (for  the  time  may  come), 
then  live  upon  remembrance,  and  think  that  you  have 
had  your  share  of  the  good  things  of  this  world,  and  say  : 
For  what  I  have  received,  the  Lord  make  me  thankful!" 
The  autumnal  trip  to  the  Continent  did  not  take  place, 
but  in  April  the  Thrales  and  Miss  Burney  went  by  easy 
stages  to  Bath  : 

"The  third  day  we  reached  Devizes. 

"  And  here,  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  were  much  pleased  with 
our  hostess,  Mrs.  Lawrence,  who  seemed  something  above 
her  station  in  her  inn.  While  we  were  at  cards  before 
supper,  we  were  much  surprised  by  the  sound  of  a  piano- 
forte. I  jumped  up,  and  ran  to  listen  whence  it  pro- 
ceeded. I  found  it  came  from  the  next  room,  where  the 
overture  to  the  '  Buona  Figliuola  '  was  performing.  The 
playing  was  very  decent,  but  as  the  music  was  not  quite 
new  to  me,  my  curiosity  was  not  whole  ages  in  satisfying 
itself,  and  therefore  I  returned  to  finish  the  rubber. 

"  Don't  I  begin  to  talk  in  an  old-cattish  manner  of 
cards  ? 

"  Well,  another  deal  was  hardly  played,  ere  we  heard 
the  sound  of  a  voice,  and  out  I  ran  again.  The  singing, 
however,  detained  me  not  long,  and  so  back  I  whisked  : 
but  the  performance,  however  indifferent  in  itself,  yet 
surprised  us  at  the  Bear  at  Devizes,  and,  therefore,  Mrs. 
Thrale  determined  to  know  from  whom  it  came.  Accord- 
ingly,   she   tapped  at  the   door.     A  very  handsome  girl, 


The  Lawrence  Family  at  Devizes.  1 1  5 

about  thirteen  years  old,  with  fine  dark  hair  upon  a  finely- 
formed  forehead,  opened  it.  Mrs.  Thrale  made  an  apology 
for  her  intrusion,  but  the  poor  girl  blushed  and  retreated 
into  a  corner  of  the  room  :  another  girl,  however,  advanced, 
and  obligingly  and  gracefully  invited  us  in,  and  gave  us  all 
chairs.  She  was  just  sixteen,  extremely  pretty,  and  with 
a  countenance  better  than  her  features,  though  those  were 
also  very  good.  Mrs.  Thrale  made  her  many  compli- 
ments, which  she  received  with  a  mingled  modesty  and 
pleasure,  both  becoming  and  interesting.  She  was,  indeed, 
a  sweetly-pleasing  girl. 

"  We  found  they  were  both  daughters  of  our  hostess,  and 
born  and  bred  at  Devizes.  We  were  extremely  pleased 
with  them,  and  made  them  a  long  visit,  which  I  wished  to 
have  been  longer.  But  though  those  pretty  girls  struck 
us  so  much,  the  wonder  of  the  family  was  yet  to  be  pro- 
duced. This  was  their  brother,  a  most  lovely  boy  of  ten 
years  of  age,  who  seems  to  be  not  merely  the  wonder  of 
their  family,  but  of  the  times,  for  his  astonishing  skill  in 
drawing.*  They  protest  he  has  never  had  any  instruc- 
tion, yet  showed  us  some  of  his  productions  that  were 
really  beautiful.  Those  that  were  copies  were  delightful 
— those  of  his  own  composition  amazing,  though  far 
inferior.  I  was  equally  struck  with  the  boy  and  his 
works. 

"  We  found  that  he  had  been  taken  to  town,  and  that 
all  the  painters  had  been  very  kind  to  him,  and  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  had  pronounced  him,  the  mother  said,  the  most 
promising  genius   he  had  ever  met  with.     Mr.   Hoaref 

*  This  boy  was  afterwards  the  celebrated  painter,  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence, 
President  of  the  Royal  Academy. 

t  Mr.  C.  Prince  Hoare.  The  intended  patronage  did  not  take  place.  The 
Lawrences  left  Devizes  almost  immediately  alter  the  dale  of  the  above  uotice, 
and  thenceforth  the  whole  family  were  supported  by  the  extraordinary  lalents  of 
the  boy  artist. 


ii6  Lady  Miiiers    Vase. 

has  been  so  charmed  with  this  sweet  boy's  drawings 
that  he  intends  sending  him  to  Ital}-  with  his  own 
son. 

"  This  house  was  full  of  books,  as  well  as  paintings, 
drawings,  and  music  ;  and  all  the  famil}-  seem  not  only 
ingenious  and  industrious,  but  amiable  ;  added  to  which, 
they  are  strikingly  handsome." 

A  chief  topic  of  conversation  at  this  time  in  Bath  was 
Lady  Miller's  vase  at  Katheaston.  Horace  Walpole 
mentions  this  vase,  and  the  use  to  which  it  was  put  : 
'  They  hold  a  Parnassus-fair  every  Thursday,  give  out 
rhymes  and  themes,  and  all  the  flux  at  Bath  contend  for 
the  prizes.  A  Roman  vase,  dressed  with  pink  ribbons 
and  myrtles,  receives  the  poetry,  which  is  drawm  out 
every  festival.  Six  judges  of  these  Olympic  games  retire, 
and  select  the  brightest  composition.'  Fanny  met  Lady 
Miller,  whom  she  describes  with  her  usual  candour  : 
'  Lady  Miller  is  a  round,  plump,  coarse-looking  dame  of 
about  fort}-,  and  while  all  her  aim  is  to  appear  an  elegant 
woman  of  fashion,  all  her  success  is  to  seem  an  ordinary 
woman  in  very  common  life,  with  line  clothes  on.  Her 
habits  are  bustling,  her  air  is  mock-important,  and  her 
manners  very  inelegant.'  In  the  midst  of  a  round  of 
gaieties,  the  Thrale  party  attended  a  reception  at  Bath- 
easton.  The  rooms  were  crowded;  but  it  being  now  June, 
the  business  of  the  vase  was  over  for  that  season,  and  the 
sacred  vessel  itself  had  been  removed.  On  returning  to  their 
lodging,  they  received  the  news  of  the  Gordon  Riots.  Next 
morning  Mrs.  Thrale  had  letters  acquainting  her  that 
her  town-house  had  been  three  times  attacked,  but  saved 
by  the  Guards,  with  the  children,  j)late,  and  valuables, 
which  were  remo\e(l.  Strcatham  had  also  been  threat- 
ened and  emptied  of  all  its  furniture.     The  same  da\'  a 


The  Gordon  Riots.  117 

Bath  newspaper  denounced  Mr.  Thrale  as  a  papist.  The 
brewer  was  now  in  a  critical  state  of  health,  and  it  became 
necessary  to  remove  him  without  excitmg  his  alarm. 
Miss  Burney  was  employed  to  break  the  matter  to  him, 
and  obtained  his  consent  to  an  immediate  departure. 
Arriving  at  Salisbury  on  the  nth  of  June,  they  were 
reassured  by  information  that  order  had  been  restored  in 
London,  and  Lord  George  Gordon  sent  to  the  Tower. 
In  London  the  friends  parted,  and  Fanny  returned  to  her 
father's  house.  Johnson  met  her  at  Sir  Joshua's  a  few 
days  after,  and  mention  being  made  of  a  house  in  Grub 
Street  that  had  been  destroyed  by  the  mob,  proposed  that 
they  should  go  there  together,  and  visit  the  seats  of  their 
progenitors, 

The  latter  part  of  this  year,  and  part  of  1781,  were 
spent  by  Miss  Burney  chiefly  in  writing  '  Cecilia.' 
While  thus  occupied  she  passed  most  of  her  time  at 
Chesington.  In  February,  1781,  she  writes  from  that 
place  to  Mrs.  Thrale  :  "I  think  I  shall  always  hate  this 
book,  which  has  kept  me  so  long  away  from  you,  as  much 
as  I  shall  always  love  '  Evelina,'  which  hrst  comfortably 
introduced  me  to  you."  Shortly  after  the  date  of  this 
letter,  the  writer  returned  home,  apparently  for  the  pur- 
pose of  meeting  the  Thrales,  who  were  fixed  for  the 
winter  in  Grosvenor  Square.  She  found  them  engaged 
in  giving  parties  to  half  London.  In  the  midst  of  their 
entertainments  Mr.  Thrale  died  suddenly  from  a  stroke 
of  apoplexy.  Fanny  could  not  desert  her  friend  in  such 
trouble.  So  soon  as  the  widow  could  bear  any  society, 
she  summoned  her  young  companion  to  Streatham,  and 
kept  her  there,  with  hardly  an  interval,  till  the  summer 
was  over.  It  does  not  appear  that  Fanny  was  at  all 
averse  to  be  detained,  but  so  long  a  stay  was  not  to  her 
advantage.     Her  hostess,  of  course,  was  much  engrossed 


1 1  8  Idleness  and  JFo7'/c. 

by  the  late  brewer's  affairs.  Dr.  Johnson,  as  one  of  the 
executors,  was  similarl}'  employed ;  and  though  Miss 
Burney,  from  time  to  time,  saw  something  of  him,  as 
well  as  of  his  co-executors,  Mr.  Cator*  and  Mr.  Crutchley,-f- 
she  met  with  little  in  the  narrowed  and  secluded  house- 
hold to  compensate  her  for  her  loss  of  time.  If  she 
busied  herself  at  all  with  '  Cecilia  '  during  this  period, 
she  seems  to  have  accomplished  very  little.  At  any  rate, 
both  her  fathers  became  impatient  of  her  inaction. 
Prompted  from  Chesington.  Dr.  Burne}-  would  have 
recalled  his  daughter,  but  found  himself  powerless 
against  the  self-willed  little  lady  of  Thrale  Hall.  The 
more  resolute  Crisp  then  took  the  field  in  person, ^ 
and  in  spite  of  his  infirmities,  repaired  to  Streatham, 
whence  he  carried  off  the  captive  authoress,  and  straight- 
way consigned  her  to  what  he  called  the  Doctor's 
Conjuring  Closet,  at  his  own  abode.  There  Fannv 
was  held  to  her  task  till  the  beginning  of  1782,  when 
she  was  called  home  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  of 
her  sister  Susan  to  Captain  Phillips  ;  after  which  Dr. 
Burney  kept  her  stationary  in  St.  Martin's  Street  till  she 
had  written  the  word  '  Finis '  on  the  last  proof-sheet  of 
'  Cecilia." 

However,  when  the  new  novel  was  fairly  in  the  printer's 
hands,  the  author  was  again  seen  in  London  society.  At 
a  party,  given  by  a  Mrs.  Paradise,  she  was  introduced  to 
a  sister  of  her  craft  : 

"  Mrs.  Paradise,  leaning  over  the  Kirwans  and  Char- 
lotte, who  hardly  got  a  seat  all  night  for  the  crowd,  said 

*  M.r.  for  Ipswich  in  17S4.  Described  by  Dr.  Johnson  as  h.nving  "  niucli 
good  in  his  character,  and  much  usefubiess  in  iiis  knowledge."  [ohnson  used 
to  visit  Mr.  Cator  at  liis  .seat  at  Beckenhani. 

f  M.P.  for  Horsham  in  1784. 

J  "  Memoirs,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  218. 


A  Sister  of  the  Craft.  1 1 9 

she  begged  to  speak  to  me.  I  squeezed  my  great  person 
out,  and  she  then  said  : 

"  '  Miss  Burney,  Lady  Say  and  Sele  desires  the  honour 
of  being  introduced  to  you.' 

"  Her  ladyship  stood  by  her  side.  She  seems  prett}- 
near  fifty — at  least  turned  forty ;  her  head  was  full  of 
feathers,  flowers,  jewels,  and  gew-gaws,  and  as  high  as 
Lady  Archer's  :  her  dress  was  trimmed  with  beads,  silver, 
Persian  sashes,  and  all  sort  of  fine  fancies  ;  her  face  is 
thin  and  fiery,  and  her  whole  manner  spoke  a  lady  all 
alive. 

"  '  Miss  Burney,'  cried  she,  with  great  quickness,  and 
a  look  all  curiosity,  '  I  am  very  happy  to  see  you ;  I  have 
longed  to  see  you  a  great  while ;  I  have  read  your  per- 
formance, and  I  am  quite  delighted  with  it.  I  think  it's 
the  most  elegant  novel  I  ever  read  in  my  life.  Such  a 
style  !  I  am  quite  surprised  at  it.  I  can't  think  where 
you  got  so  much  invention  !' 

*  You  may  believe  this  was  a  reception  not  to  make 
me  very  loquacious.  I  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn 
my  head. 

"'I  must  introduce  you,'  continued  her  ladyship,  *to 
my  sister ;  she'll  be  quite  delighted  to  see  you.  She  has 
written  a  novel  herself;  so  you  are  sister  authoresses.  A 
most  elegant  thing  it  is,  I  assure  you  ;  almost  as  pretty 
as  yours,  onh'  not  quite  so  elegant.  She  has  written  two 
novels,  only  one  is  not  so  pretty  as  the  other.  But 
I  shall  insist  upon  your  seeing  them.  One  is  in  letters, 
like  yours,  only  yours  is  prettiest ;  it's  called  the  "  Mauso- 
leum of  Julia  !"  ' 

"  What  unfeeling  things,  thought  I,  are  my  sisters  !  I'm 
sure  I  never  heard  them  go  about  thus  praising  mc  I 

"  Mrs.  Paradise  then  again  came  forward,  and,  taking 
my  hand,  led  me  up  to  her  ladyship's  sister,  Lady  Hawke, 


1 20  '  The  MausoleuDi  of  Julia.' 

saying  aloud,  and  with  a  courteous  smirk,  '  Miss  Burney, 
ma'am,  authoress  of  "  Evehna."  '.  .  .  . 

"  Lady  Hawke  arose  and  curtseyed.  She  is  much 
younger  than  her  sister,  and  rather  pretty ;  extremely 
languishing,  delicate,  and  pathetic ;  apparently  accus- 
tomed to  be  reckoned  the  genius  of  her  family,  and  well 
contented  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  creature  dropped  from 
the  clouds 

"'My  sister  intends,*  said  Lady  Say  and  Sele,  'to 
print  her  "  Mausoleum,"  just  for  her  own  friends  and 
acquaintances.' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  Lady  Hawke  :  '  I  have  never  printed 
yet.'  .... 

"  '  Well,'  cried  Lady  Say,  '  but  do  repeat  that  sweet 
part  that  I  am  so  fond  of — you  know  what  I  mean ; 
Miss  Burney  must  hear  it — out  of  your  novel,  you  know  I' 

"  Lady  H. :  No,  I  can't  ;    I  have  forgot  it. 

"Lady  S.  :  Oh,  no!  I  am  sure  you  have  not  ;  I  insist 
upon  it. 

"LadyH. :  But  I  know  you  can  repeat  it  yourself;  you 
have  so  fine  a  memory ;   I  am  sure  you  can  repeat  it. 

"  Lady  S.  :  Oh,  but  I  should  not  do  it  justice!  that's 
all — I  should  not  do  it  justice  I 

"Lady  Hawke  then  bent  forward,  and  repeated:  '  If, 
when  he  made  the  declaration  of  his  love,  the  sensibility 
that  beamed  in  his  eyes  was  felt  in  his  heart,  what  pleasing 
sensations  and  soft  alarms  might  not  that  tender  avowal 
awaken  !' 

"'And  from  what,  ma'am,'  cried  I,  astonished,  and 
imagining  I  had  mistaken  them,  '  is  this  taken  ?' 

"  '  From  my  sister's  novel  !'  answered  the  delighted 
Lady  Say  and  Sele,  e.xpecting  my  raptures  to  be  equal  to 
her  own;  'it's  in  the  "  Mausoleum," — did  not  you  know 
that  ?     Well,  I  can't  think  how  you  can  write  these  sweet 


Progress  of  '  Cecilia  '  throttgh  the  Press,     i  2 1 

novels  !  And  it's  all  just  like  that  part.  Lord  Hawke 
himself  says  it's  all  poetry.  For  my  part,  I'm  sure  I 
never  could  write  so.  I  suppose,  Miss  Burne\\  you  are 
producing  another — a'n't  you    ' 

"  '  No,  ma'am.' 

"  '  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  are.  I  dare  say  you  are  writing 
one  at  this  very  minute  !'  " 

Years  afterwards,  when  Miss  Burney  had  entered  the 
royal  household.  Queen  Charlotte  lent  her  a  presentation 
copy  of  a  novel  which  her  Majesty  had  received  from 
Lady  Hawke.  The  book  proved  to  be  the  "  Mausoleum 
of  Julia,"  then  at  length  given  to  the  public.  "'■  It  is  all 
of  a  piece,"  laughed  Fanny,  on  reading  it — "  all  love,  love, 
love,  unmixed  and  unadulterated  with  any  more  worldly 
materials." 

'  Cecilia  '  was  now  passing  slowly  through  the  press, 
amidst  the  comments  and  flattering  predictions  of  the 
few  friends  who  were  permitted  to  see  the  manuscript. 
Mrs.  Thrale  and  Queeny  reddened  their  eyes  over  the 
pages  ;  Dr.  Burney  found  them  more  engrossing  even 
than  '  Evelina ;'  but  the  author's  only  real  adviser  was 
her  '  other  daddy.'  Crisp  was  a  close,  but  not  an  over- 
bearing critic  ;  he  had  great  faith  in  his  Fannikin,  and 
he  was  restrained,  besides,  by  rankling  memories  of  his 
unfortunate  '  Virginia.'  '  Whomever  you  think  fit  to  con- 
sult,' he  wrote,  '  let  their  talents  and  taste  be  ever  so 
great,  hear  what  they  say,  but  never  give  up,  or  alter 
a  tittle,  merely  on  their  authority,  nor  unless  it  perfectly 
accords  with  your  own  inward  feelings.  I  can  say  this  to 
my  sorrow  and  to  my  cost.  But  mum  !'  And  if  Crisp 
was  somewhat  dogmatic,  he  was  also  a  sanguine  ad- 
mirer, declaring  that  he  would  insure  the  rapid  and  com- 
plete success  of  the  novel  for  half  a  crown.     Miss  Burney, 


122  Johnson  and  '  Cecilia' 

too,  though  bashful  in  a  drawing-room,  had  plenty  of  self- 
reliance  in  her  study,  and  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  be 
often  seeking  counsel.  Macaula\-,  alwa3S  confident  in  his 
conjectures,  will  have  it  that  she  received  assistance  from 
Johnson.  But  he  had  before  him,  in  the  Diary,  a  distinct 
assertion  to  the  contrar}^,  stated  to  have  been  made  b}- 
the  Doctor  himself  some  time  after  the  publication.  If 
we  may  trust  Fanny,  Johnson  said  :  '  Ay,  some  people 
want  to  make  out  some  credit  to  me  from  the  little  rogue's 
book,  I  was  told  by  a  gentleman  this  morning  that  it 
was  a  very  fine  book  if  it  was  all  her  own.  "  It  is  all  her 
own,"  said  I,  "  for  me,  I  am  sure  ;  for  I  never  saw  one 
word  of  it  before  it  was  printed."  '*  Macaulay  did  not 
mean  to  emulate  Croker ;  he  was  betrayed  by  fancied 
resemblances  of  style,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more 
deceptive.  The  probability  is  that  the  manuscript  was 
not  submitted  to  Johnson,  lest  he  should  be  held  to  have 
^vritten  what  he  only  corrected. 

'  Cecilia  ;  or,  The  Memoirs  of  an  heiress,'  was  pub- 
lished in  July,  1782.  ''  We  have  been  informed,"  says 
Macaulay,  "  by  persons  who  remember  those  days,  that 
no  romance  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  more  impatiently 
awaited,  or  more  eagerly  snatched  from  the  counters  of 
the  booksellers."  The  first  edition,  which  was  ex- 
hausted in  the  following  October,  consisted  of  two 
thousand  copies ;  and  Macaulay  was  told  by  some- 
one, not  named,  that  an  equal  number  of  pounds  was 
received  by  the  author  for  her  work.  There  is  no  pro- 
ducible authority  for  the  latter  statement,  and  we  cannot 

*  Diary,  November  4,  17S2.  The  story,  which  was  reiieated  and  believed  by 
Lord  Byron,  tliat  Johnson  superintended  'Cecilia,'  was  corrected  by  Moore  in 
his  life  of  the  poet,  published  in  1830.  '  Lord  Hyron  is  here  mistaken.  Dr. 
Johnson  never  saw  "  Cecilia  "  till  it  was  in  print.  A  day  or  two  before  pub- 
lication the  youni,'  authoress,  as  I  understand,  sent  three  copies  to  tiic  three 
persons  who  hnd  most  claim  to  them— her  father,  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  Dr. 
Johnson.' 


Burkes  Letter  to  Miss  Burncy.  123 

but  think  that  it  is  an  exaggeration,  arising  out  of  some 
confusion  between  the  amount  paid  for  the  copyright, 
and  the  number  of  copies  first  printed.  At  an}^  rate,  the 
sum  mentioned  does  not  seem  to  square  with  some  ex- 
pressions used  by  Burke,  who  about  this  time  began  to 
take  a  personal  interest  in  Miss  Burney. 

The  great  statesman  was  introduced  to  her,  a  few  days 
before  her  second  novel  appeared,  at  a  dinner  given  b\'  Sir 
Joshua  in  his  house  on  Richmond  Hill.  At  the  end  of 
July  he  addressed  her  in  a  letter  of  congratulation  :  '  You 
have  crowded,'  he  wrote,  'into  a  few  small  volumes  an  in- 
credible variety  of  characters  ;  most  of  them  well  planned, 
well  supported,  and  well  contrasted  with  each  other.  If 
there  be  any  fault  in  this  respect,  it  is  one  in  which  you 
are  in  no  great  danger  of  being  imitated.  Justly  as  your 
characters  are  drawn,  perhaps  they  are  too  numerous. 
But  I  beg  pardon  ;  I  fear  it  is  quite  in  vain  to  preach 
economy  to  those  v/ho  are  come  young  to  excessive  and 
sudden  opulence.  I  might  trespass  on  your  delicacy  if  I 
should  fill  my  letter  to  you  with  what  I  fill  my  conversa- 
tion to  others.  I  should  be  troublesome  to  you  alone  if  I 
should  tell  you  all  I  feel  and  think  on  the  natural  vein  of 
humour,  the  tender  pathetic,  the  comprehensive  and  noble 
moral,  and  the  sagacious  observation,  that  appear  quite 
throughout  that  extraordinary  performance.'  To  be 
addressed  in  such  terms  by  such  a  man  was  enough  to 
turn  the  head  of  any  young  writer  ;  and  this  letter  may 
be  regarded  as  marking  the  topmost  point  in  Fanny's'/ 
literary  career. 

Four  months  afterwards   she  encountered  Mr.  Burke 
again  at  Miss  Monckton's*  assembly.     The  gathering  was 

*  The  Honourable  Mary  MoncUlon,  daui^hter  of  the  first  Viscount  Galway, 
and  wife  of  the  seventh  Earl  of  Cork  and  Ossory,  well  known  to  the  readers  of 
Boswell  as  '  the  lively  Miss  Monckton,  who  used  always  to  have  the  finest 
bit  of  blue  at  her  parties.'  She  was  born  in  April,  1746,  and  died  on  the 
30th  of  May,  1840. 


1 24  Burkts  Etilogy  and  Criticism. 

a  brilliant  one  :  most  of  the  ladies  present  were  j^^oing  to 
the  Duchess  of  Cumberland's,  and  were  in  full  dress, 
oppressed  by  the  weight  of  their  sacques  and  ruffles ; 
but  as  soon  as  Burke  and  Sir  Joshua  Re3nolds  entered, 
Frances  Burney  had  no  e}es  for  anyone  else.  When 
the  knight  had  paid  his  compliments,  Burke  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  a  conversation  ensued,  in  which  the  great 
man  used  the  words  to  which  we  have  referred.  He  began 
by  repeating  and  amplifying  the  praises  of  his  letter ;  and 
then,  not  to  appear  fulsome,  proceeded  to  hnd  fault : 
the  famous  masquerade  he  thought  too  long,  and  that 
something  might  be  spared  from  Harrel's  grand  assembly  ; 
he  did  not  like  Morrice's  part  at  the  Pantheon,  and  he 
wished  the  conclusion  either  more  happy  or  more  miser- 
able ;  '  for  in  a  work  of  imagination,"  said  he,  '  there  is  no 
medium.'  But,  he  added,  there  was  one  further  fault  more 
serious  than  any  he  had  mentioned,  and  that  was  the 
disposal  of  the  book :  why  had  not  Mr.  Briggs,  the  city 
gentleman  of  the  novel,  been  sent  for  ?  he  would  have 
taken  care  that  it  should  not  be  parted  with  so  much 
below  par.  Had  two  thousand  pounds,  or  any  sum  ap- 
proaching that,  been  given  for  the  copyright,  the  price 
could  not  have  been  considered  insufficient.  We  are 
obliged,  therefore,  to  conclude  that  the  story  told  to  the 
Edinburgh  Reviewer  was  apocryphal."^ 

The  list  of  Miss  Burney's  friends  continued  to  enlarge 
itself.  In  the  winter  of  1782-3,  besides  being  made  free 
of  certain  fashionable  houses,  such  as  Miss  Monckton's  and 
Mrs.  Walsingham's,t  she  became  known  to  the  two  '  old 

*  There  is  also  a  letter  of  Crisp's  in  wliich  lie  mentions  a  promise  of  Dr. 
Burney  to  make  up  his  daughter's  gains  to  even  money.  A  few  years  later, 
when  her  reputation  was  enlianced  by  '  Cecilia,'  Miss  Burney  asked  for  her 
third  novel,  '  Camilla,'  no  more  than  eleven  hundreil  guineas.  On  the  whole, 
we  are  inclined  to  believe  that  the  sum  she  received  for  '  Cecilia  '  was  less  than 

;^I_.000. 

•f  Daughter  of  Sir  Charles  llanlnuy  Williams. 


Soa7nc  Jenyns.  125 

wits/  Owen  Cambridge  and  Soame  Jenyns,*  to  Erskine, 
the  Wartons,  Benjamin  West,  Jackson  of  Exeter,  William 
Windham,  Dr.  Parr,  Mrs,  Delan}^  and  a  host  of  others, 
till  she  began  '  to  grow  most  heartily  sick  of  this  con- 
tinual round  of  visiting,  and  these  eternal  new  acquaint- 
ances.' Soame  Jenyns  came  to  meet  her  at  a  reception 
arranged  by  his  special  request,  and,  at  seventy-eight, 
arrayed  himself  for  the  occasion  in  a  Court  suit  of 
apricot-coloured  silk,  lined  with  white  satin,  making  all 
the  slow  speed  in  his  power  to  address  her,  as  she  entered, 
in  a  studied  harangue  on  the  honour,  and  the  pleasure, 
and  the  what  not,  of  seeing  so  celebrated  an  authoress  ; 
while  the  whole  of  a  large  company  rose,  and  stood  to 
listen  to  his  compliments. 

But  the  time  was  coming  when  Frances  was  to  learn 
that  life  has  its  trials  even  for  the  most  favoured  children 
of  fortune.  In  the  spring  of  1783,  Mr.  Crisp's  old  enemy 
the  gout  fixed  upon  his  head  and  chest ;  and,  after  an 
illness  of  some  duration,  he  sank  under  the  attack.  His 
fits  of  gout  had  latterly  become  so  constant  that  at  first 
the  fatal  seizure  caused  little  apprehension.  In  the  early 
part  of  his  sufferings  Fanny  sent  frequent  letters  to 
cheer  him.  'God  bless,'  she  writes,  'and  restore  you, 
my  most  dear  daddy !  You  know  not  how  kindly  I 
take  your  thinking  of  me,  and  inquiring  about  me,  in 
an  illness  that  might  so  well  make  you  forget  us  all ; 
but  Susan  assures  me  your  heart  is  as  affectionate  as 
ever  to  your  ever  and  ever  faithful  and  loving  child.'  As 
soon  as  danger  was  declared,  she  hastened  to  Chesington. 
She  attended  the  old  man  throughout  his  last  few  daj's  : 
he  called  her,  at  parting,  '  the  dearest   thing  to   him  on 

*  Contributors  to  "The  World."  Soame  Jenyns  was  chiefly  known  by 
his  work  "On  the  Evidences  of  the  Clirisiian  Religion."  He  died  \\\  17S7  ; 
Cambrids:e  in  1802. 


126  I II- health  of  Johnson. 

earth  ;'  and  her  passionate  sorrow  for  his  death  excited 
the  alarm,  though  not  the  jealousy,  of  her  natural 
father.^- 

And  this  loss  was  not  the  onl\-  trouble  of  that  year. 
Mrs.  Thrale  had  for  some  time  been  meditating  her  foolish 
second  marriage.  As  soon  as  '  Cecilia  '  was  off  her  mind, 
Miss  Burney  had  resumed  her  visits  to  Streatham.  She 
at  once  found  that  her  friend  was  changed.  Mrs.  Thrale 
had  become  absent,  restless,  moody.  The  secret  of  her 
attachment  to  Fiozzi  was  not  long  in  being  disclosed  to 
Fanny,  who  could  give  her  comfort,  though  not  sympathy. 
The  latter  remained  long  enough  at  Streatham  to  witness 
the  gradual  estrangement  of  her  hostess  from  Dr.  Johnson. 
One  morning  the  Doctor  accompanied  his  little  Burney  in 
the  carriage  to  London  :  as  they  turned  into  Streatham 
Common,  he  exclaimed,  pointing  backwards  :  *  That  house 
is  lost  to  nic  for  ever !'  A  few  weeks  later,  the  house  was 
let  to  Lord  Shelburne.  Mrs.  Thrale  retired  to  Brighton, 
and  afterwards  coming  to  town,  passed  the  winter  in 
Argyle  Street.  Frances  spent  much  time  with  her  there. 
But  in  the  beginning  of  April  the  uneasy  widow  went 
with  her  three  eldest  daughters  to  take  up  her  abode  at 
Bath,  till  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to  complete  the 
match  which  all  her  friends  disapproved.  Crisp's  illness 
becoming  serious  shortly  afterwards,  left  Fanny  no  time 
at  first  to  grieve  over  this  separation.  She  felt  it  all  the 
more  on  her  return  to  St.  Martin's  Street  after  her  daddy's 
death.  And  in  the  summer,  Dr.  Johnson's  health,  which 
for  some  time  had  been  steadily  declining,  was  broken 
down  by  a  stroke  of  paralysis.  She  visited  him  frequenth- 
at  his  house  in  Bolt  Court.     One  evening,  when  she  with 

*  Ciisp  died  April  24,  1783,  aged  seventy-six.  A  monument  to  his  memory 
was  put  u|)  in  the  little  church  at  Chesington,  wiih  an  inscription  from  the  pen 
of  Dr.  Burney.     His  libiary  was  sold  jn  the  loliowing  year. 


Mrs.    Tlirale  Marries  Piozzi.  127 

her  father  and  some  others  were  sitting  with  him,  he 
turned  aside  to  her,  and,  grasping  her  hand,  said  :  '  The 
bhster  I  have  tried  for  my  breath  has  betrayed  some  very 
bad  tokens ;  but  I  will  not  terrify  myself  by  talking  of 
them.     Ah,  pricz  Dieu  pour  nioi !' 

One  ray  of  comfort  the  close  of  1783  brought  with  it. 
On  the  day  on  which  the  Ministry  to  which  he  belonged 
was  dissolved,  Mr.  Burke  appointed  Dr.  Burney  organist 
of  Chelsea  Hospital,  at  the  insignificant,  though  augmented 
salary  of  ^^50  a  year,  regretting  that  while  he  had  been 
Paymaster-General,  nothing  more  worthy  of  the  Doctor's 
acceptance  had  fallen  to  his  disposal.  About  this  incident 
Miss  Burney  writes  :  '  You  have  heard  the  whole  story  of 
Mr.  Burke,  the  Chelsea  Hospital,  and  his  most  charming 
letter?  To-day  he  called,  and,  as  my  father  was  out, 
inquired  for  me.  He  made  a  thousand  apologies  for 
breaking  in  upon  me,  but  said  the  business  was  finally 
settled  at  the  Treasury.  Nothing  could  be  more  delicate, 
more  elegant  than  his  manner  of  doing  this  kindness.  I 
don't  know  whether  he  was  most  polite,  or  most  friendly, 
in  his  whole  behaviour  to  me.  I  could  almost  have  cried 
when  he  said,  "  This  is  my  last  act  in  office,"  He  said  it 
with  so  manly  a  cheerfulness,  in  the  midst  of  undisguised 
regret.     What  a  man  he  is  !' 

The  record  of  1784  in  the  Diary  is  very  short.  The 
chief  incidents  are  the  marriage  of  Mrs.  Thrale  to  Piozzi, 
and  the  death  of  Dr.  Johnson.  Enough,  and  more  than 
enough,  has  been  written  on  the  subject  of  the  marriage. 
Most  of  the  lady's  contemporaries  spoke  of  it  as  if  it  had 
been  some  disgraceful  offence.  Many  in  later  times  have 
adopted  the  same  tone.  Dr.  Burney  had  introduced 
Piozzi  to  the  Thrales,  and  for  this  and  other  reasons,  the 
Doctor  and  his  family  were  disposed  to  be  more  lenient  in 
their  judgment.     Dr.  Burney  said  :  '  No  one  could  blame 


1 28  Last  Interview  with  Johnson. 

Piozzi  for  accepting  a  gay  rich  widow.  What  could  a 
man  do  better  ?'  And  the  singing-master  was  a  quiet, 
inoffensive  person.  Still,  as  to  the  lady,  it  could  not  be 
forgotten  that  she  had  young  daughters,  whose  prospects 
she  had  no  right  to  prejudice  by  a  match  so  unequal  and 
so  generally  condemned.  It  is,  therefore,  not  surprising 
that  when  the  wedding  took  place  about  the  middle  of 
this  year,  and  Mrs.  Piozzi  wrote,  demanding  cordial 
congratulations,  Miss  Burn^y  was  unable  to  reply  with 
warmth  enough  to  satisfy  her.  The  intimate  friendship 
and  correspondence  of  six  years,  therefore,  came  to  an 
end.  Fanny,  who  was  the  last  to  write,  attributed  the 
rupture,  at  one  time,  to  the  cause  just  mentioned,  and,  at 
another,  to  the  resentment  of  Piozzi,  when  informed  of 
her  constant  opposition  to  the  union. 

Some  months  later,  Miss  Burney  had  her  final  interview 
with  Dr.  Johnson  : 

"  Last  Thursda}-,  Nov.  25th,  my  father  set  me  down  at 
Bolt  Court,  while  he  went  on  upon  business.  I  was 
anxious  to  again  see  poor  Dr.  Johnson,  who  has  had 
terrible  health  since  his  return  from  Lichfield.  He  let  me 
in,  though  very  ill.  He  was  alone,  which  I  much  rejoiced 
at :  for  I  had  a  longer  and  more  satisfactory  conversation 
with  him  than  I  have  had  for  many  months.  He  was  in 
rather  better  spirits,  too,  than  I  have  lately  seen  him  ; 
but  he  told  me  he  was  going  to  try  what  sleeping  out  of 
town  might  do  for  him. 

"  '  I  remember,'  said  he,  '  that  my  wife,  when  she  was 
near  her  end,  poor  woman,  was  also  advised  to  sleep  out 
of  town  ;  and  when  she  was  carried  to  the  lodgings  that 
had  been  prepared  for  her,  she  complained  that  the  stair- 
case was  in  very  bad  condition — for  the  plaster  was  beaten 
ofl"  the  walls  in  many  places.     '  Oh,"  said  the  man  of  the 


Mrs.  Piozzi.  1 29 

house,  '  that's  nothing  but  by  the  knocks  against  it  of 
the  coffins  of  the  poor  souls  that  have  died  in  the 
lodgings  !' 

"  He  laughed,  though  not  without  apparent  secret 
anguish,  in  telling  me  this.  I  felt  extremely  shocked,  but, 
willing  to  confine  my  words  at  least  to  the  literal  story,  I 
only  exclaimed  against  the  unfeeling  absurdity  of  such  a 
confession. 

"  '  Such  a  confession,'  cried  he,  '  to  a  person  then 
coming  to  try  his  lodging  for  her  health,  contains,  indeed, 
more  absurdity  than  we  can  well  lay  our  account  for.' 

"  I  had  seen  Miss  T.  the  day  before. 

"  '  So,'  said  he,  '  did  1/ 

"  I  then  said  :  '  Do  you  ever,  sir,  hear  from  her 
mother  ?' 

"  '  No,'  cried  he,  '  nor  write  to  her.  I  drive  her  quite 
from  my  mind.  If  I  meet  with  one  of  her  letters,  I  burn 
it  instantly.  I  have  burnt  all  I  can  find.  I  never  speak 
of  her,  and  I  desire  never  to  hear  of  her  more.  I  drive 
her,  as  I  said,  wholly  from  my  mind.' 

"  Yet,  wholly  to  change  this  discourse,  I  gave  him  a 
histor}-  of  the  Bristol  milk-woman,'*  and  told  him  the 
tales  I  had  heard  of  her  writing  so  wonderfully,  though 
she  had  read  nothing  but  Young  and  Milton  ;  '  though 
those,'  I  continued,  'could  never  possibly,  I  should  think, 
be  the  first  authors  with  an}body.  Would  children 
understand  them  ?  and  grown  people  who  have  not  read 
are  children  in  literature.' 

"  '  Doubtless,'  said  he  ;  '  but  there  is  nothing  so  little 
comprehended  among  mankind  as  what  is  genius.  The\' 
give  to  it  all,  when  it  can  be  but  a  part.  Genius  is 
nothing  more  than  knowing  the  use  of  tools ;  but  there 
must  be  tools  for  it  to  use :  a  man  who  has  spent  all  his 

*  Ann  Vearsley. 


130  What  is  Genius  ? 

life  in  this  room  will  give  a  very  poor  account  of  what  is 
contained  in  the  next,' 

"  '  Certainly,  sir  ;  yet  there  is  such  a  thing  as  invention  ; 
Shakespeare  could  never  have  seen  a  Caliban.' 

"  '  No  ;  but  he  had  seen  a  man,  and  knew,  therefore, 
how  to  vary  him  to  a  monster.  A  man  who  would  draw 
a  monstrous  cow,  must  first  know  what  a  cow  commonly 
is ;  or  how  can  he  tell  that  to  give  her  an  ass's  head  or  an 
elephant's  tusk  will  make  her  monstrous  ?  Suppose  you 
show  me  a  man  who  is  a  very  expert  carpenter ;  another 
will  say  he  was  born  to  be  a  carpenter — but  what  if  he 
had  never  seen  any  wood  ?  Let  two  men,  one  with 
genius,  the  other  with  none,  look  at  an  overturned 
waggon  : — he  who  has  no  genius,  will  think  of  the  waggon 
only  as  he  sees  it,  overturned,  and  walk  on  ;  he  who  has 
genius,  will  paint  it  to  himself  before  it  was  overturned, 
— standing  still,  and  moving  on,  and  heavy  loaded,  and 
empty;  but  both  must  see  the  waggon,  to  think  of  it 
at  all.' 

"  How  just  and  true  all  this,  my  dear  Susy  !  He  then 
grew  animated,  and  talked  on,  upon  this  milk-woman, 
upon  a  once  as  famous  shoemaker,  and  upon  our  immortal 
Shakespeare,  with  as  much  fire,  spirit,  wit,  and  truth  of 
criticism  and  judgment,  as  ever  yet  I  have  heard  him. 
How  delightfully  bright  are  his  faculties,  though  the  poor 
and  infirm  machine  that  contains  them  seems  alarmingly 
giving  way. 

"  Yet,  all  brilliant  as  he  was,  I  saw  him  growing  worse, 
and  offered  to  go,  which,  for  the  first  time  I  ever  remember, 
he  did  not  oppose ;  but,  most  kindly  pressing  both  my 
hands : 

"  '  Be  not,'  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  even  tenderness,  '  be 
not  longer  in  coming  again  for  my  letting  you  go  now.' 
"  I  assured  him  I  would  be  the  sooner,  and  was  running 


Johnsons  Death.  131 

off,  but  he  called  me  back,  in  a  solemn  voice,  and,  in  a 
manner  the  most  energetic,  said  : 

*'  '  Remember  me  in  your  prayers  !' 

"  I  longed  to  ask  him  to  remember  me,  but  did  not  dare. 
I  gave  him  my  promise,  and,  very  heavily  indeed,  I  left 
him.  Great,  good,  and  excellent  that  he  is,  how  short  a 
time  will  he  be  our  boast !  Ah,  my  dear  Susy,  I  see  he  is 
going !  This  winter  will  never  conduct  him  to  a  more 
genial  season  here  !  Elsewhere,  who  shall  hope  a  fairer  ? 
I  wish  I  had  bid  him  pray  for  me ;  but  it  seemed  to  me 
presumptuous,  though  this  repetition  of  so  kind  a  conde- 
scension might,  I  think,  have  encouraged  me.' 

'■  He  wished  to  look  on  her  once  more ;  and  on  the  day 
before  his  death  she  long  remained  in  tears  on  the  stairs 
leading  to  his  bedroom,  in  the  hope  that  she  might  be 
called  in  to  receive  his  blessing.  He  was  then  sinking 
fast,  and  though  he  sent  her  an  affectionate  message,  was 
unable  to  see  her.'* 

*  Macaulay. 


9—2 


CHAPTER  V. 

Mrs.  Delany — Her  Childhood — Her  First  Marriage — Swift — Dr.  Delany — The 
Dowager  Duchess  of  Portland — Mrs.  Delany  a  Favourite  at  Court — Her 
Flower-Work — Miss  Burney's  First  Visit  to  Mrs.  Delany — Meets  the 
Duchess  of  Portland — Mrs.  S]ee})e — Crisp — Growth  of  Friendship  with  Mrs. 
Delany — Society  at  her  House — Mrs.  Delany 's  Reminiscences — The  Lockes 
ofNorbury  Park — Mr.  .Smelt — Dr.  Burney  has  an  Audience  of  the  King  and 
Queen — The  King's  Bounty  to  Mrs.  Delany— Miss  Burney  Visits  Windsor — 
Meets  the  King  and  (lueon— '  Evelina  ' — Invention  Exhausted — The  King's 
Opinion  of  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and  Shakespeare — The  Queen  and  Bookstalls 
— Expectation — Journey  to  Windsor — The  Terrace — Dr.  Burney's  Dis- 
appointment— Proposal  of  the  (Jueen  to  Miss  Burney — Doubts  and  Fears 
— An  Interview — The  Decision — Mistaken  Criticism — Burke's  Opinion— A 
Misconception — Horace  Walpole's  Regret^Miss  Burney's  Journals  of  her 
Life  at  Court — Sketches  of  Character — The  King  and  Queen — Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg — The  Queen's  Lodge — Miss  Burney's  Apartments — A  Day's  Duties 
— Royal  Snuff — Fictitious  Names  in  the  Diary — The  Princesses — A  Royal 
Birthilay — A  \Valk  on  the  Terrace — The  Infant  Princess  Amelia. 

We  have  mentioned  Mrs.  Delany  in  our  list  of  the  more 
remarkable  friends  made  by  Miss  Burney  during  the 
winter  succeeding  the  publication  of  '  Cecilia.*  Burke 
followed  a  fashion  then  prevalent  when  he  pronounced 
this  venerable  lady  the  fairest  model  of  female  excellence 
in  the  previous  age.  Mrs.  Delany  owed  her  distinction 
in  a  great  measure  to  the  favour  which  she  enjoyed  with 
the  royal  family.  Born  in  1700,  she  was  earl}-  instructed 
in  the  ways  of  a  Court,  having  been  brought  up  by  an 
aunt  who  had  been  maid-of-honour  to  Queen  Mary,  and 
had  received  for  her  charge  the  promise  of  a  similar  em- 
ployment in  the  household  of  Queen  Anne.  Having  missed 
this  promotion,  the  girl  next  fell  into  the  hands  of  her 
uncle,  George  Granville.  Lord  Lansdowne,  who,  though 


Mrs.  Delany. 


oo 


celebrated  by  Pope  as  '  the  friend  of  every  Muse,"  was 
not  gentleman  enough  to  treat  his  brother's  child  with 
decent  consideration.  He  forced  Mary  Granville,  at 
seventeen,  into  a  marriage  with  Alexander  Pendarves,  a 
Cornish  squire  near  sixty,  of  drunken  habits  and  morose 
manners,  who  sought  the  match  chiefly  to  disappoint  his 
expectant  heir.  After  a  few  years,  this  worthy  died  of  a 
ht,  to  the  great  relief  of  all  belonging  to  him,  but,  unfor- 
tunatel}-  for  his  wife,  without  having  made  the  provision 
for  her  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  appears  to  have 
intended.  Some  time  later  the  widow  paid  a  visit  to 
Ireland,  where  she  became  acquainted  with  Dean  Swift, 
and  his  intimate  associate.  Dr.  Patrick  Delany,  who  was 
famed  as  a  scholar  and  preacher.  After  her  return.  Swift 
exchanged  occasional  letters  with  her  so  long  as  he 
retained  his  reason.  In  1743,  Dr.  Delany,  then  himself  a 
widower,  came  over  to  England  to  offer  himself  to  her  in 
marriage.  She  accepted  him,  in  spite  of  her  family, 
whose  high  stomach  rose  against  a  mesalliance  with  an 
Irish  parson.  Their  influence,  however,  was  subsequently 
used  to  procure  for  Delany  the  deanery  of  Down.  On 
his  death,  which  occurred  in  1768,  Mrs.  Delany  settled  in 
London,  and,  at  the  time  when  Miss  Burney  was  intro- 
duced to  her,  had  a  house  in  St.  James's  Place.  Her 
most  intimate  friend  was  the  old  Duchess  of  Portland, 
with  whom  she  regularly  spent  the  summer  at  her  Grace's 
dower  house  of  Bulstrode.  There  she  was  presented  to 
George  III.  and  his  Queen,  both  of  whom  conceived  a 
strong  regard  for  her.  The  King  called  her  his  dearest 
Mrs.  Delany,  and  in  1782  commissioned  Opie  to  paint 
her  portrait,  which  was  placed  at  Hampton  Court.* 

*  '  It  is  pronounced  like  Rembrandt,  but,  as  I  told  her,  it  does  not  look 
older  than  she  is,  but  older  than  she  does.' — Walpole  to  Mason,  February  14, 
17S2. 


134         '^^^^  Dowager  Dicchess  of  Portland. 

While  Frances  Burney  was  having  her  first  interview 
with  Mrs.  Delany,  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Portland 
condescended  to  appear  upon  the  scene.  This  exalted 
personage,  we  are  given  to  understand,  had  a  natural 
aversion  to  female  novel-writers,  but,  at  her  friend's 
request,  consented  to  receive  homage  from  the  author  of 
'  Cecilia.'  Her  curiosity,  in  fact,  got  the  better  of  her 
pride.  Before  her  arrival,  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
flower-work  for  which  Mrs.  Delany  was  famous  among 
her  acquaintances.  This  was  a  kind  of  paper  mosaic, 
invented  by  the  old  lady,  and  practised  by  her  until  her 
e3'esight  failed.  Some  specimens  of  it  were  thought 
worthy  of  being  offered,  as  a  tribute  of  humble  duty,  to 
Queen  Charlotte.  The  admiration  freely  bestowed  on 
this  trumper)^  and  the  doubtful  reception  accorded  to 
literary  merit  in  a  woman,  illustrate  the  tone  which  pre- 
vailed in  the  highest  societ}-  a  hundred  years  ago.  To 
cut  out  bits  of  coloured  paper,  and  paste  them  together 
on  the  leaf  of  an  album  so  as  to  resemble  flowers,  was 
considered  a  wonderful  achievement  even  for  a  paragon 
of  her  sex.  To  have  written  the  best  work  of  imagina- 
tion that  had  proceeded  from  a  female  pen  was  held  to 
confer  only  an  equivocal  title  to  eminence.  The  Duchess, 
however,  exerted  herself  to  be  civil.  '  She  was  a  simple 
woman,'  says  Walpole ;  but  she  did  her  best.  She  joined 
Mrs.  Delany  in  recalling  the  characters  that  had  pleased 
them  most  in  '  Cecilia  ;'  she  dwelt  on  the  spirit  of  the 
writing,  the  fire  in  the  composition,  and,  'with  a  solemn 
sort  of  voice,'  declared  herself  gratified  by  the  moralit\- 
of  the  book,  '  so  striking,  so  pure,  so  genuine,  so  instruc- 
tive.' Fanny,  always  impressed  by  grandeur,  eager  after 
praise,  thankful  for  notice,  was  charmed  with  these  com- 
pliments. She  found  her  Grace's  manner  not  merely 
free   from   arrogance,  but  'free  also  from   its   mortifying 


The  Duchess  attd  Mr.   Crisp.  1 3  5 

deputy,  affabilit3\"  Yet  the  worship  of  rank,  which 
belonged  to  that  age,  was,  in  Httle  Miss  Burney,  always 
subordinate  to  better  feelings.  In  her  eyes  the  dignified 
visitor  appeared  by  no  means  so  interesting  as  her 
hostess.*  Nor  was  it  any  air  of  courtliness  that  attracted 
her  in  Mrs.  Delany,  but  a  simple  domestic  association. 
Though  not  a  person  of  genius,  or,  it  should  seem,  of  any 
extraordinary  cultivation,  this  veteran  of  English  and 
Irish  society  had  preserved  an  unsullied,  gentle,  kindly 
spirit  which  showed  itself  in  her  face  and  carriage. 
Fanny  could  not  remember  to  have  seen  so  much  sweet- 
ness of  countenance  in  anyone  except  her  own  grand- 
mother, Mrs.  Sleepe.  She  at  once  began  to  trace,  or  to 
imagine,  a  resemblance  between  '  that  saint-like  woman ' 
and  her  new  friend,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  tender- 
ness which  the  current  of  her  thoughts  excited. 

Besides  this  similarity,  she  bethought  her  of  another 
recollection  which  she  could  with  propriet}^  impart  to  the 
ladies  before  her.  She  had  often  heard  Mr.  Crisp  speak 
of  his  former  intercourse  with  the  Duchess  and  Mrs. 
Delany.  The  latter,  she  learned  on  inquiry,  had  been 
chiefly  intimate  with  Crisp's  sisters  ;  but  the  Duchess 
had  known  Crisp  himself  well,  and  was  curious  to  learn 
what  had  become  of  so  agreeable  and  accomplished  a 
man.  Her  questions  gave  the  shy,  silent  Fanny  a  theme 
on  which  she  could  enlarge  with  animation.  '  I  spared 
not,'  she  writes,  '  for  boasting  of  my  dear  daddy's  kind- 
ness to  me.'     The  accounts  she   had   received  from  the 

'•'  The  editor  of  Mrs.  Delany 's  '  Correspondence,'  having  a  grudge  against 
Madame  d'Arblay,  labours  to  prove  that  the  Duchess  of  Portland  cannot  have 
been  present  at  this  interview.  The  supposed  proof  consists,  in  showing  from 
some  old  letters  that  the  Duchess  did  not  read  '  Evelina '  for  nearly  twelve 
months  after  the  date  spoken  of.  But  this  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  '  Evelina  ' 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  mentioned  when  its  author  was  introduced  to 
Miss  Delany.  The  conversation  recorded  to  have  passed  related  wholly  to 
'Cecilia.' 


136    Growth  of  Friendship  zuith  Mrs.  Delany. 

Crisp  family,  she  told  Mrs.  Delany,  had  tirst  made  her 
desire  the  acquaintance  that  day  commenced.  She  ran 
on  to  relate  the  story  of  Crisp's  disappearance,  painted 
his  way  of  life  in  his  retreat,  and  entertained  the  company 
with  a  description  of  Chesington  Hall,  its  isolated  and 
lonely  position,  its  ruinous  condition,  its  nearly  inacces- 
sible roads,  its  quaint  old  pictures,  and  straight  long 
garden  paths.*  Her  flow  of  spirits  banished  all  reserve, 
and  that  evening  laid  the  foundations  of  a  friendship 
that  partly  consoled  her  for  the  death  of  Crisp  and  the 
desertion  of  Mrs.  Thrale. 

The  attachment  between  Mrs.  Delany  and  the  favourite 
of  Chesington  and  Streatham  grew  up  rapidly.  The 
entries  in  Fanny's  Diary  show  that  she  very  soon  became 
a  constant  visitor  in  St.  James's  Place.  She  is  flattered  at 
being  so  much  in  favour  there  as  to  find  its  mistress 
always  eager  to  fix  a  time  for  their  next  and  next  meeting. 
Yet,  while  pn^fuse  in  praise  of  her  venerable  friend,  she 
dwells  more  on  the  qualities  of  the  old  lad}'s  heart  than 
on  any  accomplishments  of  mind  or  manner  ;  she  loves 
even  more  than  she  admires  her;  possibl}^  some  touches 
of  high-breeding  were  lost  on  the  music-master's  daughter: 
at  any  rate,  the  first  impression  abides  with  her,  and  in 
the  noted  pattern  of  antique  polish  and  tastet  she  sees 
always  the  image  of  the  departed  Mrs.  Sleepe. 

Except  in  the  presence  of  her  young  grand-niece  Mary 
Port,+  Mrs.  Delany's  house  had  little  charm  of  liveliness. 
The  chief  persons   that    frequented   it  belonged    to    the 

*  Memoirs,  vol.  ii.,  p.  313. 

f  The  courtier-bishop  Ilurd  descrihed  Mrs.  Delany  as  a  lady  'of  great 
politeness  and  ingenuity,  and  of  an  unaffected  piety.' 

X  C^eorgina  Mar)-  Ann  I'ort  (called  '  Mary'  by  her  great-aunt)  was  born  on 
September  i5,  1771.  Her  father  having  outrun  his  means,  she  was  taken  by 
Mrs.  Delany,  who  brought  her  up  to  the  age  of  sixteen.  Not  long  after  the 
death  of  her  protectress,  she  married  Mr.  I'enjamin  Waddington,  of  Llanovcr. 
She  died  on  January  19,  1850. 


Mrs.   Delauys  Circle.  137 

same  generation  as  the  Duchess  of  Portland,  who  spent 
most  of  her  evenings  there.  A  sombre  figure  in  that 
pecuhar  assembly  was  Lady  Wailingford,the  impoverished 
widow  of  a  gaming  peer,  and  a  daughter  of  the  speculator 
Law.  This  lady,  who  never  opened  her  lips,  invariably 
appeared  in  full  mourning  dress,  wearing  a  black  silk 
robe,  a  hoop,  long  ruffles,  a  winged  cap,  and  other  ap- 
pendages of  an  attire  that  even  then  was  obsolete. 
Another  visitor  was  the  Countess  of  Bute,  wife  of 
George  IIL's  early  favourite,  and  daughter  of  Lady  Mar}- 
Wortley  Montagu.  The  elderly  wit  Horace  Walpole  often 
joined  a  circle  in  which  his  old-fashioned  pleasantry  was 
still  received  with  the  old  applause.  Fanny,  who  had 
met  him  elsewhere,  thought  that  he  never  showed  to 
such  advantage  as  when  surrounded  by  those  statel}' 
dowagers.  And  while  Horace,  and  most  of  the  other 
callers,  had,  more  or  less,  the  air  of  having  outlived  their 
age,  the  lady  to  whom  they  paid  their  respects  had  passed 
the  better  portion  of  her  life  in  a  still  more  remote  period. 
She  encouraged  Miss  Burney  to  turn  over  Swift's  letters 
to  her  ;  and  her  most  interesting  anecdotes  related  to  the 
days  of  the  Dean,  and  Pope,  and  Young. 

Perhaps  it  was,  in  part,  some  memory  of  the  time 
when  she  herself  had  shared  the  talk  of  men  of  letters, 
that  made  her  take  to  the  young  writer  who  had  done 
more  to  raise  the  literary  credit  of  women  than  Mrs. 
Montagu,  or  Hannah  More,  or  the  whole  tribe  of  blue- 
stockings united.  The  admired  of  Johnson,  Burke  and 
Reynolds  was  both  a  more  entertaining  guest,  and  a 
greater  ornament  to  her  drawing-room,  than  the  respect- 
able Mrs.  Chapone,  the  learned  Mrs.  Carter,  or  even  '  the 
high-bred,  elegant '  Mrs.  Boscawen.  And,  whatever  may 
have  been  said  at  a  later  date  by  distant  connections  of 
Mrs.  Delany,  soured   by  a  peevish  family  pride  which  she 


138  The  Locke  s  of  Nor  bury  Park. 

disdained,  her  own  published  letters  prove  that  she  not 
merely  appreciated  Fanny's  talents,  but  understood  and 
valued  her  character.  At  one  time  she  declares  that 
'  Evelina '  and  '  Cecilia,'  excellent  as  she  finds  them,  are 
their  author's  meanest  praise,  and  goes  on  to  extol  '  her 
admirable  understanding,  tender  affection  and  sweetness 
of  manners ;'  after  three  years'  experience  she  writes  of 
her  companion  :  '  Her  extreme  diffidence  of  herself,  not- 
withstanding her  great  genius,  and  the  applause  she  has 
met  with,  adds  lustre  to  all  her  excellences,  and  all 
improve  on  acquaintance.'  It  is  scarcely  too  much  to 
say  that  the  correspondence  in  which  these  lines  occur 
would  never  have  been  printed  but  for  Miss  Burney.  The 
love  and  esteem  expressed  in  her  Diary  have  almost  alone 
saved  Mrs.  Delan3^'s  name  from  utter  oblivion  ;  it  would 
be  strange  indeed  had  such  regard  gone  unrequited  by 
its  object. 

Frances  Burney  had  certainl)'  a  remarkable  capacity 
for  friendship.  Not  long  after  her  introduction  in  St. 
James's  Place,  she  formed  another  acquaintance,  which 
ripened  steadily,  and  became,  on  Mrs.  Delany's  death,  the 
chief  intimacy  of  her  life  outside  her  own  family.  It 
seems  to  have  been  in  the  summer  of  1783  that  Dr. 
Burney  and  his  now  celebrated  daughter  first  met  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke,  of  Norbury  Park.  From  some 
cause  or  other,  we  do  not  get  so  vivid  a  picture  of  these 
worthy  persons  as  we  do  of  most  of  Fanny's  other 
friends.  This  is  perhaps  partly  explained  by  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Locke  was  a  man  of  reserved  and  retiring  tempera- 
ment. But  though  silent  in  general  society,  he  had  a 
benevolent  heart  and  a  cultivated  taste  ;  was  a  great  lover 
of  the  picturesque,  and  a  collector  of  works  of  art.  Dr. 
Burney  paid  his  first  visit  to  Norbury  in  company  with 
Sir  Joshua   Reynolds ;    and   man\-   years   afterwards   Sir 


Mr.  Smelt.  139 

Thomas  Lawrence  told  Madame  d'Arblay  that  in  all  his 
experience  he  had  never  seen  a  second  Mr.  Locke.  The 
eldest  son  of  the  house,  William  Locke,  was  an  amateur 
artist  of  some  skill.  Miss  Burney's  particular  friend  was, 
naturally,  Mrs.  Locke.  The  sketch  transmitted  to  us  of 
this  lady  is  even  more  faint  than  that  of  her  husband, 
whom,  we  are  told,  she  strongly  resembled.  She  was 
lovely,  of  course,  and  amiable  :  Fanny  sometimes  calls 
her  bewitching  ;  but  we  search  in  vain  for  anything  more 
distinctive.  After  the  summer  of  1784,  Miss  Burney, 
except  during  her  employment  at  Court,  was  often  at 
Norbury.  It  pleased  her  to  think  that  when  there  she 
was  only  six  miles  from  Chesington,  And  while  the 
place  was  still  new  to  her,  her  sister  Susan,  who  had  been 
abroad  for  her  health,  returned,  and  settled  with  her 
husband,  Captain  Phillips,  in  the  village  of  Mickleham, 
hard  by  the  gates  of  Norbury  Park.  Thenceforth  the 
Park  banished  all  regrets  for  Streatham.  The  Thrales 
themselves  were  never  more  hospitable  or  kinder  than  the 
excellent  Lockes  proved  to  be.  If  we  cannot  get  to  know 
the  latter  as  we  know  the  former,  it  is  a  satisfaction,  at 
least,  to  learn  that  Mr.  Smelt,  who  had  been  sub-governor 
to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  spoke  of  them  to  Fanny  as  '  that 
divine  family,' 

Mr.  Smelt,  previously  a  slight  acquaintance  of  the 
Burneys,  had  lately  shown  a  disposition  to  cultivate  their 
society.  Such  attention  on  the  part  of  a  confidential 
royal  servant,  though  easily  accounted  for  by  the  fame  of 
*  Cecilia,'  was  among  the  omens  which  befell  about  this 
time  of  what  the  fates  had  in  store  for  the  author. 
Another  premonitory  incident  occurred  at  the  beginning  of 
1785,  when  Dr.  Burney  was  admitted  to  a  private  audi- 
ence of  the  King  and  Queen,  in  order  that  he  might 
present  to  them   copies  of  his  narrative  of  the   Handel 


1  40        The  Kings  Bounty  to  Mrs.  Delany. 

Commemoration,  which  had  taken  place  in  the  preceding 
year.  The  good-natured  monarch,  according  to  his  wont 
on  such  occasions,  entered  into  a  famiHar  and  discursive 
conversation  with  the  Doctor.  The  last  topic  discussed 
was  the  story  of  the  publication  of  Evelina.  '  And  is  it 
true,'  asked  the  King  eagerly,  '  that  you  never  saw 
Evelina  before  it  was  printed  ?'  '  Nor  even  till  long  after 
it  was  published,'  was  the  reply.  The  King  then  drew 
from  the  gratified  father  a  detailed  account  of  Evelina's 
first  introduction  to  the  world,  which,  as  the  Doctor 
reported,  afforded  the  greatest  amusement  to  the  Queen, 
as  well  as  to  his  inquiring  Majesty. 

The  old  Duchess  of  Portland  died  in  July,  1785.  Her 
will  made  no  provision  for  her  older  friend,  whom  no 
doubt  she  had  expected  to  survive  ;  and  this  accident 
indirectly  determined  the  great  mistake  of  Miss  Burney's 
life.  The  loss  of  her  summer  quarters  at  Bulstrode, 
which  for  the  half  of  every  year  had  been  her  constant 
home,  was  a  serious  inconvenience  for  Mrs.  Delany,  whose 
income  barely  sufficed  for  the  maintenance  of  her  London 
establishment  during  the  winter.  Informed  of  this,  the 
King  caused  a  house  belonging  to  the  Crown  at  Windsor, 
near  the  Castle,  to  be  fitted  up  for  the  use  of  his  aged 
favourite,  and  settled  a  pension  of  three  hundred  pounds 
a  year  upon  her  for  the  rest  of  her  days,  that  she  might 
be  enabled  to  enjoy  a  country  life  without  giving  up  her 
accustomed  residence  in  St.  James's  Place.  The  royal 
bount}'  was  so  complete  that  Mrs.  Delany's  maid  was 
commanded  to  see  that  her  mistress  brought  nothing 
with  her  but  her  clothes :  everything  else  was  to  be  pro- 
vided ;  and  when  supplies  were  exhausted,  the  abigail 
was  to  make  a  recjuisition  for  more.  The  King  himself 
superintended  the  workmen :  when  his  new  neighbour 
arrived,  he   was  on  the   spot   to  welcome   her ;    and   she 


Miss  Bwney   Visits   Windsor.  141 

found  that  her  benefactor  had  not  only  caused  the  house 
to  be  furnished  with  plate,  china,  glass,  and  hnen,  but 
the  cellars  to  be  stocked  with  wine,  and  the  cupboards 
stored  with  sweetmeats  and  pickles.*  Such  was  the 
plainness,  and  such  the  generosity,  of  George  III. 

Miss  Burney  was  on  a  visit  to  her  friend  while  these 
arrangements  were  in  progress  ;  when  the  latter  left 
London  for  Windsor,  she  herself  went  to  her  father  at 
Chesington  Hall,  in  which  old  haunt  Dr.  Burney  was 
then  employed  on  his  still  unfinished  History.  In  the 
following  December,  Fanny  rejoined  Mrs.  Delany  at 
Windsor,  and  during  her  stay  there  was  introduced  to 
the  King  and  Queen.  It  seems  that  etiquette  forbade 
her  being  formally  presented  to  them,  except  at  a 
drawing-room  ;  but  they  were  desirous  of  making  her 
acquaintance,  and  it  was  at  length  arranged  that  when 
next  their  Majesties  called  on  her  hostess,  as  they  were  in 
the  habit  of  doing,  she  should  remain  in  the  room.  On 
the  first  occasion  that  occurred,  her  courage  failed  her  at 
the  critical  moment,  and  she  fled.  A  few  days  later,  Mrs. 
Delany  returned  from  her  afternoon  nap  to  find  her 
nephew,  Mr.  Bernard  Dewes,  his  little  daughter,  and  Miss 
Port,  engaged  in  the  drawing-room  with  Miss  Burney, 
who  was  teaching  the  child  some  Christmas  games,  in 
which  her  father  and  cousin  joined.     The  Diary  proceeds  : 

*  Miss  Bumey's  account  is  confirmed  in  every  important  particular  by 
Walpole,  who  states  that  he  had  his  information  from  Mrs.  Delany's  own 
mouth:  Walpole  to  Lady  Ossory,  September  17,  1785.  Lady  Llanover,  who 
edited  the  '  Delany  Correspondence,'  is  wroth  that  the  thankful  recipient  of  all 
this  minute  bounty  should  be  accused  of  having  been  helped  in  her  house- 
keeping by  the  Duchess  of  Portland.  In  the  '  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Burney ' 
(vol.  iii.,  p.  50),  it  is  stated  that  the  Duchess,  who  visited  at  Mrs.  Delany's 
nearly  every  evening,  contrived  to  assist  the  7ninage,  without  offending  her 
hostess  by  the  offer  of  money.  If  Madame  d'Arblay  erred  in  this  statement — 
and  Lady  Llanover  by  no  means  satisfies  us  that  she  did  err — surely  the  mistake 
was  a  most  venial  one.  But  Lady  Llanover's  outraged  dignity  fumes  through 
hundreds  of  pages  in  feeble  sneers  at  Fanny's  low  origin,  and  still  more  feeble 
attempts  to  convict  her  of  inaccuracy.     Noblesse  oblige. 


142  Miss  Burney  Meets  the  King. 

"  We  were  all  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  in  some 
confusion  ; — but  she  had  but  just  come  up  to  us  to  inquire 
what  was  going  forwards,  and  I  was  disentangling  myself 
from  Miss  Dewes,  to  be  ready  to  fly  off  if  anyone  knocked 
at  the  street-door,  when  the  door  of  the  drawing-room 
was  again  opened,  and  a  large  man,  in  deep  mourning, 
appeared  at  it,  entering  and  shutting  it  himself  without 
speaking. 

"  A  ghost  could  not  more  have  scared  me,  when  I  dis- 
covered by  its  glitter  on  the  black,  a  star !  The  general 
disorder  had  prevented  his  being  seen,  except  by  myself, 
who  was  always  on  the  watch,  till  Miss  Port,  turning 
round,  exclaimed,  '  The  King  ! — Aunt,  the  King  !' 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  thought  I,  that  I  were  but  out  of  the 
room  !  which  way  shall  I  escape  ?  and  how  pass  him 
unnoticed  ?  There  is  but  the  single  door  at  which  he 
entered,  in  the  room  !  Everyone  scampered  out  of  the 
way  :  Miss  Port,  to  stand  next  the  door  ;  Mr.  Bernard 
Dewes  to  a  corner  opposite  it ;  his  little  girl  clung  to  me ; 
and  Mrs.  Delany  advanced  to  meet  his  Majesty,  who, 
after  quietly  looking  on  till  she  saw  him,  approached,  and, 
inquired  how  she  did. 

"  He  then  spoke  to  Mr.  Bernard,  whom  he  had  already 
met  two  or  three  times  here. 

"  I  had  now  retreated  to  the  wall,  and  purposed  gliding 
softly,  though  speedily,  out  of  the  room  ;  but  before  I  had 
taken  a  single  step,  the  "King,  in  a  loud  whisper  to  Mrs. 
Delany,  said,  *  Is  that  Miss  Burney  ?'  — and  on  her 
answering,  '  Yes,  sir,'  he  bowed,  and  with  a  countenance 
of  the  most  perfect  good  humour,  came  close  up  to  me.'' 

Having  put  a  question  to  her,  and  received  an  inaudible 
reply,  he  went  back  to  Mrs.  Delany,  and  spoke  of  the 
Princess  Elizabeth,  who,  incredible  as  it  sounds,  was  then 


A  Ridiculous  Situation.  143 

recovering   from    an   illness    after   having    been   blooded 
twelve  times  in  a  fortnight  : 

"  A  good  deal  of  talk  then  followed  about  his  own  health, 
and  the  extreme  temperance  by  which  he  preserved  it. 
The  fault  of  his  constitution,  he  said,  was  a  tendency  to 
excessive  fat,  which  he  kept,  however,  in  order  by  the 
most  vigorous  exercise,  and  the  strictest  attention  to  a 
simple  diet. 

"  When  Mrs.  Delany  was  beginning  to  praise  his  for- 
bearance, he  stopped  her. 

■'  '  No,  no,'  he  cried,  '  'tis  no  virtue ;  I  only  prefer 
■eating  plain  and  little,  to  growing  diseased  and  infirm.' 

"  During  this  discourse,  I  stood  quietly  in  the  place 
where  he  had  first  spoken  to  me.  His  quitting  me  so 
soon,  and  conversing  freely  and  easily  with  Mrs.  Delany, 
proved  so  delightful  a  relief  to  me,  that  I  no  longer  wished 
myself  away;  and  the  moment  my  first  panic  from  the 
surprise  was  over,  I  diverted  myself  with  a  thousand 
ridiculous  notions  of  my  own  situation. 

"  The  Christmas  games  we  had  been  showing  Miss 
Dewes,  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  still  performing,  as  none 
■  of  us  thought  it  proper  to  move,  though  our  manner  of 
standing  reminded  one  of  Puss  in  the  corner.  Close  to 
the  door  was  posted  Miss  Port ;  opposite  her,  close  to  the 
wainscot,  stood  Mr.  Dewes  ;  at  just  an  equal  distance 
from  him,  close  to  a  window,  stood  myself;  Mrs.  Delany, 
though  seated,  was  at  the  opposite  side  to  Miss  Port  ; 
and  his  Majesty  kept  pretty  much  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  The  little  girl,  who  kept  close  to  me,  did  not 
break  the  order,  and  I  could  hardly  help  expecting  to  be 
beckoned,  with  a  puss !  puss !  puss !  to  change  places 
with  one  of  my  neighbours. 

"  This    idea,  afterwards,   gave    way   to    another    more 


144  ^^^^^  King  Questions  Miss  Burney. 

pompous.  It  seemed  to  me  we  were  acting  a  pla}-. 
There  is  something  so  Httle  Hke  common  and  real  Hfe,  in 
everybody's  standing,  while  talking,  in  a  room  full  of 
chairs,  and  standing,  too,  so  aloof  from  each  other,  that 
I  almost  thought  myself  upon  a  stage,  assisting  in  the 
representation  of  a  tragedy — in  which  the  King  played 
his  own  part  of  the  king  ;  Mrs.  Delany  that  of  a  venerable 
confidante  :  Mr.  Dewes,  his  respectful  attendant ;  Miss 
Port,  a  suppliant  virgin,  waiting  encouragement  to  bring 
forward  some  petition  ;  Miss  Dewes,  a  young  orphan, 
intended  to  move  the  royal  compassion  ;  and  m3self,  a 
very  solem.n,  sober,  and  decent  mute. 

''  These  fancies,  however,  only  regaled  me  while  I  con- 
tinued a  quiet  spectator,  and  without  expectation  of  being 
called  into  play.  But  the  King,  I  have  reason  to  think, 
meant  onl}-  to  give  me  time  to  recover  from  ni}'  first 
embarrassment ;  and  I  feel  myself  infinitely  obliged  to 
his  good  l)reeding  and  consideration,  which  perfectly 
answered,  for  before  he  returned  to  me  I  was  entirely 
recruited.  .  .  . 

''  The  King  went  up  to  the  table,  and  looked  at  a  book 
of  prints,  from  Claude  Lorraine,  which  had  been  brought 
down  for  Miss  Dewes;  but  Mrs.  Delany,  by  mistake,  told 
him  they  were  for  me.  He  turned  over  a  leaf  or  two,  and 
then  said  : 

"  '  Pra}-,  does  Miss  Burney  draw  too  ?' 

"  The  too  was  pronounced  very  civilly. 

"  '  I  believe  not,  sir,'  answered  Mrs.  Delany ;  '  at  least, 
she  does  not  tell." 

"'Oh!'  cried  he,  laughing,  'that's  nothing!  She  is 
not  apt  to  tell ;  she  never  does  tell,  you  know  !  Her 
father  told  me  that  himself.  He  told  me  the  whole  histor\- 
of  her  Evelina.  And  I  shall  never  forget  his  face  when 
he  spoke  of  his  feelings  at  first  taking  up  the  book  ! — he 


The  King  and  Evelina.  145 

looked  quite  frightened,  just  as  if  he  was  doing  it  that 
moment  !     I  never  can  forget  his  face  while  I  live !' 

"  Then  coming  up  close  to  me,  he  said  : 

"  '  But  what  ? — what  ? — how  was  it  ?' 

"  '  Sir,'  cried  I,  not  well  understanding  him. 

"  '  How  came  you — how  happened  it  ? — what  ? — • 
what  V 

"  '  I — I  only  wrote,  sir,  for  my  own  amusement — only 
in  some  odd,  idle  hours.' 

"  'But  your  publishing — your  printing — how  was  that  ?' 

"  '  That  was  only,  sir — only  because ' 

"  I  hesitated  most  abominably,  not  knowing  how  to  tell 
him  a  long  story,  and  growing  terribly  confused  at  these 
questions — besides,  to  say  the  truth,  his  own  "  what  ? 
what  ?"  so  reminded  me  of  those  vile  Probationary  Odes,* 
that,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  flutter,  I  was  really  hardly 
able  to  keep  my  countenance. 

"  The  What  f  was  then  repeated  with  so  earnest  a  look, 
that,  forced  to  say  something,  I  stammeringly  answered  : 

"  '  I  thought — sir — it  would  look  very  well  in  print !' 

"  I  do  really  flatter  myself  this  is  the  silliest  speech  I 
ever  made  !  I  am  quite  provoked  with  myself  for  it ;  but 
a  fear  of  laughing  made  me  eager  to  utter  anything,  and 
by  no  means  conscious,  till  I  had  spoken,  of  what  I  was 
saying, 

"  He  laughed  very  heartily  himself — well  he  might — and 
walked  away  to  enjoy  it,  crying  out : 

"  '  Very  fair  indeed  !  that's  being  very  fair  and  honest !' 

"  Then,  returning  to  me  again,  he  said  : 

"  '  But  your  father — how  came  you  not  to  show  him 
what  you  wrote  ?' 

*  The  Probationary  Oeles  for  the  Laureate&hip  appeared  in  1785,  after  the 
appointment  of  Thomas  Warton  to  that  otfice,  on  the  vacancy  occasioned  by 
the  death  of  William  Whitehead. 

10 


146  Invention  Exhausted. 

"  '  I  was  too  much  ashamed  of  it,  sir,  seriously.' 

"  Literal  truth  that,  I  am  sure. 

"  '  And  how  did  he  find  it  out  ?' 

"  '  I  don't  know  myself,  sir.  He  never  would  tell 
me.'  .... 

"  '  What  entertainment  you  must  have  had  from  hearing 
people's  conjectures  before  30U  were  known !  Do  you 
remember  an}- of  them  ?'  .... 

" '  I  heard  that  Mr.  Baretti  laid  a  wager  it  was  written 
by  a  man  ;  for  no  woman,  he  said,  could  have  kept  her 
own  counsel.' 

"  This  diverted  him  extremely. 

"'But  how  was  it,'  he  continued,  'you  thought  most 
likely  for  your  father  to  discover  you  ?' 

"  '  Sometimes,  sir,  I  have  supposed  I  must  have  dropped 
some  of  the  manuscript :  sometimes,  that  one  of  my 
sisters  betrayed  me.' 

"  '  Oh  !  your  sister  ? — what,  not  your  brother  ?' 

"  '  No,  sir  ;  he  could  not,  for ' 

"  I  was  going  on,  but  he  laughed  so  much  I  could  not 
be  heard,  exclaiming : 

"  '  Vastly  well  !  I  see  you  are  of  Mr.  Baretti's  mind, 
and  think  your  brother  could  keep  your  secret,  and  not 
your  sister  ....  fSut  you  have  not  kept  your  pen  unem- 
ployed all  this  time  ?' 

"  '  Indeed  I  have,  sir.' 

"  '  But  why  ?' 

" '  I — I  believe  I  have  exhausted  myself,  sir.' 

"  He  laughed  aloud  at  this,  and  went  and  told  it  to 
Mrs.   Delany,  civilly  treating  a  plain  fact  as  a  mere  ban 

The  King  asked  several  other  questions  about  Evelina, 
and  the  prospect  of  anything  further  appearing  from  the 


Enter  the  Qziecn.  147 

author's  pen.  A  change  of  subject  led  to  the  mention  of 
hunting,  when,  looking  round  on  the  party, "He  said  :  '  Did 
you  know  that  Mrs.  Delany  once  hunted  herself,  and  in  a 
long  gown  and  a  great  hoop  ?'  As  he  spoke,  a  violent 
thunder  was  heard  at  the  door.  Fanny  again  felt  herself 
sinking  into  the  carpet.  Miss  Port  slid  out  of  the  room 
backwards,  and  lights  shone  in  the  hall.  Enter  the  Queen. 
Her  Majesty  drops  a  profound  reverence  to  the  King, 
holds  out  both  hands  to  her  dear  Mrs.  Delany,  and  then 
turns  her  face  on  the  short-sighted  stranger,  who,  un- 
certain whether  she  has  received  a  salute  or  not,  is 
bewildered  what  to  do.  The  King  comes  to  her  relief, 
repeats  to  his  consort  all  that  Miss  Burney  has  already 
told  him,  and  proceeds  with  a  further  catechism.  The 
Queen,  more  curious  about  the  future  than  the  past,  has 
questions  of  her  own  to  put.  '  Shall  we  have  no  more  ? — 
nothing  more  ?'  she  asks.  Fanny  can  only  shake  her 
head  in  reply,  and  when  gracious  phrases  of  regret  and 
encouragement  are  uttered,  is  unable  to  find  a  word  of 
acknowledgment.  Presently  the  conversation,  becoming 
general,  ranges  over  a  variety  of  topics,  from  the  ex- 
emplary behaviour  of  the  Princess  Sophia,  aged  nearly 
nine,  in  guarding  her  music-master's  great  nose  from 
ridicule,  to  Bishop  Porteous's  sermons,  which  the  King 
thought  that  admired  preacher  would  do  wrong  to  publish, 
because  every  discourse  printed  would  diminish  his  stock 
for  the  pulpit. 

Three  days  later  the  King  made  an  evening  visit. 
The  Diary  describes  the  mode  of  his  reception  on  these 
occasions.  '  The  etiquette  always  observed  on  his 
entrance  is,  first  of  all,  to  fly  off  to  distant  quarters  ;  and 
next,  Miss  Port  goes  out,  walking  backwards,  for  more 
candles,  which  she  brings  in,  two  at  a  time,  and  places 
upon  the  tables  and  pianoforte.     Next  she  goes  out  for 

10 — 2 


148  Shakspeare  Criticized. 

tea,  which  she  then  carries  to  his  Majesty,  upon  a  large 
salver,  containing  sugar,  cream,  and  bread  and  butter 
and  cake,  while  she  hangs  a  napkin  over  her  arm  for  his 
fingers.  This,  it  seems,  is  a  ceremony  performed,  in  other 
places,  always  by  the  mistress  of  the  house ;  but  here 
neither  of  their  Majesties  will  permit  Mrs.  Delany  to 
attempt  it.'  While  drinking  his  tea,  the  King  ran  on,  in 
his  usual  discursive  vein,  about  authors,  actors,  books, 
and  plays.  Concerning  the  tendency  of  Voltaire's  works, 
and  the  personal  character  of  Rousseau,  he  expressed  the 
current  opinions  of  English  society  ;  calling  the  former  a 
monster,  and  telling  anecdotes  to  illustrate  "  the  savage 
pride  and  insolent  ingratitude  '  of  the  latter.  He  vexed 
Miss  Burney  by  pronouncing  Mrs.  Siddons  the  most 
■excellent  player  of  his  time,  not  even  excepting  the 
divine  Garrick.  From  players  he  went  to  plays,  and 
having  deplored  the  immorality  of  the  old  English 
comedies,  and  the  poverty  of  the  new  ones,  he  came  at 
length  to  Shakspeare. 

"'Was  there  ever,'  cried  he,  'such  stuff  as  great  part 
■of  Shakspeare  ?  only  one  must  not  say  so  !  But  vvhat 
think  you?  What?  Is  there  not  sad  stuff?  What? 
What  ?' 

"  '  Yes,  indeed,  I  think  so,  sir,  though  mixed  with  such 
■excellences,  that ' 

"  '  Oh  !'  cried  he,  laughing  good-humouredly  ;  '  I  know 
it  is  not  to  be  said  !  but  it's  true.  Only  it's  Shakspeare, 
and  nobody  dares  abuse  him.' 

"  Then  he  enumerated  many  of  the  characters  and  parts 
of  plays  that  he  objected  to  ;  and,  when  he  had  run  them 
over,  finished  with  again  laughing,  and  exclaiming  :  *  But 
one  should  be  stoned  for  saying  so  !'  " 

The  following  afternoon,  the  Queen  came,  and  was 
also  in  a  mood  for  literary  criticism.     She  talked  of  the 


The   Terrace  at  Windsor.  149 

'  Sorrows   of  Werter,'    and    Klopstock's   '  Messiah,'  and 
mentioned,  with  praise,  another  book,  saying  : 

*  I  picked  it  up  on  a  stall.  Oh,  it  is  amazing  what  good 
books  there  are  on  stalls  !' 

'  It  is  amazing  to  me,'  said  Mrs.  Delany,  *  to  hear 
that.' 

'  Why,  I  don't  pick  them  up  myself ;  but  I  have  a 
servant  very  clever ;  and  if  they  are  not  to  be  had  at  the 
bookseller's,  they  are  not  for  me  any  more  than  for 
another.' 

In  May,  1786,  the  Mastership  of  the  King's  Band, 
which  had  formerly  been  promised  to  Dr.  Burney,  once 
more  became  vacant.  The  Doctor  was  again  a  candidate 
for  the  appointment.  We  gather  from  his  having  ac- 
cepted so  small  a  post  as  that  of  Organist  to  Chelsea 
Hospital,  and  from  some  other  indications,  that  his  cir- 
cumstances had  not  improved  as  he  grew  older.  He  was 
now  sixty  years  of  age  ;  he  must  have  found  the  work  of 
tuition  at  once  less  easy  to  be  met  with,  and  more 
laborious  to  discharge,  than  it  had  been  in  his  younger 
days  ;  we  cannot  be  mistaken  in  supposing  that  he  was 
eager  to  obtain,  not  merely  promotion,  but  also  some 
permanent  and  lighter  occupation.  In  his  anxiet}'  he 
had  recourse  to  Mr.  Smelt,  who  counselled  him  to  go  to 
Windsor,  not  to  address  the  King,  but  to  be  seen  by  him. 
'  Take  your  daughter  in  your  hand,'  said  the  experienced 
courtier,  '  and  walk  upon  the  Terrace.  Your  appearing 
there  at  this  time  the  King  will  understand,  and  he  is 
more  likely  to  be  touched  by  such  a  hint  than  by  any 
direct  application.'  Burney  lost  no  time  in  acting  on  the 
advice  thus  given.  When  he  and  Fanny  reached  the 
Terrace  in  the  evening,  they  found  the  Royal  Family 
already  there.  The  King  and  Queen,  the  Queen's  mother, 
and  the  Prince  of  Mecklenburg,  her  Majesty's  brother, 


150  The   Terrace  at  Windsor. 

all  walked  together.  Behind  them  followed  six  lovely 
young  princesses,*  with  their  ladies  and  some  of  the 
young  princes,  making,  in  the  eyes  of  loyal  subjects,  '  a 
very  gay  and  pleasing  procession  of  one  of  the  finest 
families  in  the  world.'  "  Every  way  they  moved,"  con- 
tinues the  narrator,  "  the  crowd  retired  to  stand  up 
against  the  wall  as  they  passed,  and  then  closed  in  to 
follow.  When  they  approached,  and  we  were  retreating, 
Lady  Louisa  Clayton  placed  me  next  herself,  making  her 
daughters  stand  below — without  which  I  had  certainly 
not  been  seen  ;  for  the  moment  their  Majesties  advanced, 
I  involuntarily  looked  down,  and  drew  my  hat  over  my 
face.  I  could  not  endure  to  stare  at  them  ;  and,  full  of 
our  real  errand,  I  felt  ashamed  even  of  being  seen  by 
them.  Consequently,  I  should  have  stood  in  the  herd, 
and  unregarded  ;  but  Lady  Louisa's  kindness  and  good 
breeding  put  me  in  a  place  too  conspicuous  to  pass  un- 
noticed. The  moment  the  Queen  had  spoken  to  her, 
which  she  stopped  to  do  as  soon  as  she  came  up  to  her, 
she  inquired,  in  a  whisper,  who  was  with  her.  The 
Queen  then  instantly  stepped  near  me,  and  asked  me 
how  I  did  ;  and  then  the  King  came  forward,  and,  as 
soon  as  he  had  repeated  the  same  question,  said : 

"  '  Are  you  come  to  stay  ?' 

"  '  No,  sir  ;  not  now.' 

''  *  I  was  sure,'  cried  the  Oueen,  '  she  was  not  come 
to  stay,  by  seeing  her  father  !' 

''  I  was  glad  by  this  to  know  my  father  had  been 
observed. 

"  'And  when,'  asked  the  King,  'do  you  return  again 
to  Windsor  ?' 

*  Charlotte,  b.  1766,  d.  1828,111.  Kinj^  of  Wmteniberg  ;  Augusta,  b.  1768, 
<1.  1840  (unin.)  ;  Elizabeth,  b.  1770,1.1.  1X40,111.  Landgrave  of  lltsse  lloiiiburg  ; 
Mary,  b.  1776,  d.  1840, 111.  her  cousin,  the  Duke  uf  Gloucester;  Sophia,  b.  1777, 
<1.  1848  (unni.)  ;  .Vinelia,  b.  1783,  d.  1810  (unm.). 


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Dr,  Burneys  Disappointment.  151 

"  '  Very  soon,  I  hope,  sir.' 

"  'And— and— and,'  cried  he,  half  laughing  and  hesi- 
tating significantly,  'pray,  how  goes  on  the  Muse  ?' 

"  At  first  I  only  laughed  too ;  but  he  repeated  the  in- 
quiry, and  then  I  answered  : 

"  '  Not  at  all,  sir/ 

"  '  No  ?     But  why  ?— why  not  ?' 

"  '  I — I — I  am  afraid,  sir,'  stammered  I. 

"  '  And  why  ?'  repeated  he  ; — '  of  what  ?' 

"  I  spoke  something — I  hardly  know  what  myself — so 
indistinctly  that  he  could  not  hear  me,  though  he  had 
put  his  head  quite  under  my  hat  from  the  beginning  of 
the  little  conference  ;  and  after  another  such  question  or 
two,  and  no  greater  satisfaction  in  the  answer,  he  smiled 
very  good-humouredly,  and  walked  on,  his  Queen  by  his 
side. 

"  ^^'e  stayed  some  time  longer  on  the  Terrace,  and  my 
poor  father  occasionally  joined  me;  but  he  looked  so 
conscious  and  depressed  that  it  pained  me  to  see  him. 
He  was  not  spoken  to,  though  he  had  a  bow  every  time 
the  King  passed  him,  and  a  curtsey  from  the  Queen.  But 
it  hurt  him,  and  he  thought  it  a  very  bad  prognostic ;  and 
all  there  was  at  all  to  build  upon  was  the  graciousness 
shown  to  me."  Much  dejected,  the  Doctor  posted  back 
to  town  with  his  daughter;  and,  on  reaching  home,  heard 
that  the  place  he  sought  had  been  disposed  of  by  the 
L(.)rd  Chamberlain,  in  whose  gift  it  was. 

Miss  Burney  was  persuaded  that  the  King  was  dis- 
pleased with  the  action  of  his  official,  but  we  venture  to 
doubt  the  correctness  of  her  belief.  Beyond  question, 
Mr.  Smelt  had  had  good  reason  for  implying  that  the 
daughter,  rather  than  the  father,  was  the  object  of  favour 
at  Windsor.  Dr.  Burney  was  by  no  means  a  sound 
enough  Handelian  to  satisfy  George  III.     And,  to  say  the 


152      Proposal  of  the  Queen  to  Miss  Buruey. 

truth,  the  account  of  the  Handel  Centenary  Festival  was 
but  a  poor  performance.  On  the  other  hand,  Fanny's 
literary  success,  and  her  manner  of  carryinj^  it,  had 
pleased  and  interested  the  royal  pair.  It  is  probable, 
if  not  absolutel}^  certain,  that  the  design  of  finding  her 
some  employment  at  Court  had  already  been  entertained, 
and  that  this  was  considered  to  render  her  father's  suit 
for  himself  inopportune. 

"  The  first  thought  was  to  settle  her  with  one  of  the 
princesses,  in  preference  to  the  numerous  candidates  of 
high  birth  and  station,  but  small  fortune,  who  were  wait- 
ing and  supplicating  for  places  about  the  persons  of  the 
King's  daughters.  But  in  the  month  following  Dr. 
Burney's  disappointment,  a  vacancy  occurred  in  the 
Queen's  own  Household.  The  office  of  Keeper  of  the 
Robes  was  jointly  held  by  two  Germans,  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg  and  Mrs.  Haggerdorn,  who  had  accompanied 
Charlotte  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  when  she  came  to 
England.  The  health  of  Mrs.  Haggerdorn  broke  down 
about  this  time,  and  in  June,  1786,  it  was  arranged  that 
she  should  retire,  and  return  to  her  own  country.  Who 
should  succeed  her  was  a  matter  of  eager  speculation  and 
fierce  competition  in  Court  circles  ;  but  without  consult- 
ing anyone,  the  yueen  commissioned  Mr.  Smelt  to  make 
an  offer  to  Frances  Burney.  This  trusted  agent  was 
instructed  to  express  her  Majesty's  wish  to  attach  the 
30ung  lady  permanently  to  herself  and  her  family  :  he  was 
to  propose  to  her  to  undertake  certain  duties,  which  were 
in  fact  those  of  Mrs.  Haggerdorn  ;  and  he  was  to  intimate 
that  in  case  of  her  accepting  the  situation  designed  for 
her,  she  would  have  apartments  in  the  palace,  would 
belong  to  the  table  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  with  whom 
the  Queen's  own  visitors — bishops,  lords,  or  conmions — 
always  dined  ;  would  be  allowed  a  separate  footman,  and 


Doubts  and  Fears.  153 

the  use  of  a  carriage  in  common  with  her  senior  colleague ; 
and  would  receive  a  salary  of  two  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
Fanny  listened,  and  was  struck  with  consternation. 
"  The  attendance,"  she  wrote  to  her  dear  Miss  Cambridge, 
"  was  to  be  incessant,  the  confinement  to  the  Court  con- 
tinual; I  was  scarce  ever  to  be  spared  for  a  single  visit  from 
the  palaces,  nor  to  receive  an3'body  but  with  permission  ; 
and  what  a  life  for  me,  who  have  friends  so  dear  to  me,  and 
to  whom  friendship  is  the  balm,  the  comfort,  the  very 
support  of  existence  !'  It  was  not  the  sacrifice  of  literary 
prospects  that  alarmed  her.  She  did  not  even  think  of 
*  those  distinguished  men  and  women,  the  flower  of  all 
political  parties,  with  whom  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
mixing  on  terms  of  equal  intercourse,'*  and  from  whose 
society  she  would  be  exiled.  Her  mind  dwelt  only  on  the 
pain  of  being  separated  from  her  family  and  intimate 
friends  :  from  Susan  and  the  Lockes  ;  from  the  old 
familiar  faces  at  Chesington  ;  from  her  sister  Charlotte, 
now  married  and  settled  in  Norfolk ;  from  her  corre- 
spondent at  Twickenham.  '  I  have  no  heart,'  she  says, 
'  to  write  to  Mickleham  or  Norbury.  I  know  how  they 
will  grieve  :  they  have  expected  me  to  spend  the  whole 
summer  with  them.'  Good  Mr.  Smelt,  who,  in  the  words 
of  Macaulay,  seems  to  have  thought  that  going  to  Court 
was  like  going  to  heaven,  was  equally  surprised  and  morti- 
fied at  the  mournful  reception  accorded  to  his  flattering 
proposals.  Mrs.  Delany,  in  whose  town  house  they  were 
delivered,  was  not  less  astounded.  The  recipient,  how- 
ever, had  but  one  thought,  that,  which  ever  way  her  own 
feelings  inclined,  the  matter  must  be  referred  to  her 
father,  as  the  only  person  entitled  to  decide  it.  Dr. 
Burney,  as  might  have  been  anticipated,  was  enraptured 
by  the  honour  done  to  his  family,  and  the  vista  which,  in 

*  Macaulay. 


154  Interview  aitci  Acceptance. 

his  sanguine  view,  was  opened  before  his  daughter. 
Meanwhile,  Mr.  Smelt  had  gone  down  to  \\'indsor,  and 
brought  back  word  that  the  Queen  desired  a  personal 
interview  with  Miss  Burney.  Fanny  had  her  audience, 
and  it  ended,  as  she  foresaw  must  be  the  case,  in  her 
submission.  When  her  Majesty  said,  with  the  most 
condescending  softness,  '  I  am  sure,  Miss  Burney,  we 
shall  suit  one  another  very  well,'  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done,  but  to  make  a  humble  reverence,  and  accept.  The 
Queen  told  Mrs.  Delany  :  'I  was  led  to  think  of  Miss 
Burney,  first  by  her  books,  then  by  seeing  her  ;  then  by 
always  hearing  how  she  was  loved  by  her  friends  ;  but 
chiefly  by  your  friendship  for  her.' 

Of  course,   the  proposition    and   the  acceptance   were 
alike  mistaken.     The   service  required  was   unworthy  of 
the  servant,  nor  was  she  competent  for  the  service.     On 
the  one  hand,  the  talents  of  a  brilliant  writer  were  thrown 
away  in  a  situation  where  writing  was  neither  expected 
nor  desired.    On  the  other,  a  novice  of  puny  figure,  imper- 
fect sight,  extreme  nervousness,  and  small  aptitude  for 
ordinary  feminine   duties,  was  most  unlikely  to  become 
distinguished   in  the  profession  of  a  lady-in-attendance. 
Under  the  most  favourable  circumstances,  the  gains  and 
advantages  attached  to  her  constrained  life  at  Court  were 
not  to  be  compared  with  those  which  might  be  looked  for 
from  the  diligent  use  of  her  pen  in  the  freedom  of  home. 
Yet  allowing  all  this,  we  cannot  disguise  from  ourselves 
that  much  heedless  rhetoric  has  been  expended  by  several 
critics   on    the  folly  of   Miss    Burney's  choice,   and    the 
infatuation  of  her  parent.     These   critics,  we  conceive, 
have  been  led  astray,  partly  by  those  more  extreme  trials 
of  her  servitude  which  no  prudence  could  have  foreseen, 
but  principally  by  an  erroneous  estimate  of  her  position 
at  the  time  when  she  closed  with  the  Queen's  offer. 


Mistaken  Criticism,  155 

The    picture   which    has    l)een    imagined    of    FVances 
Burney   sending   forth,    at    short    intervals,    a    series    of 
*  Cecihas,'  and  receiving  for  each  a  cheque  of  two  thousand 
guineas,  is  attractive,  but  purely  visionary.      It  would,  we 
venture  to  say,  have  tickled   her  fine   sense   of  humour 
amazingly.     We  are  not  to  think  of  her  as  of  a  favourite 
novelist  of  to-da}',  whom  the  booksellers  and  the  editors 
of  magazines  conspire  to  keep  constantly  employed.     Her 
longing  to  see  herself  in  print  seems  to  have  been  satiated 
by  the  appearance  of  '  Evelina.'     Her  second  work  was  a 
much  less   spontaneous    production.      Indeed,   it   is   not 
clear  that  '  Cecilia '  would  have  been  written  but  for  the 
urgency  of  Crisp,  seconded  b}'  other  friends.     Her  two 
fathers  were  agreed  that  she  ought  to  exert  herself  while  her 
powers  and  her  fame  were  fresh  ;  but  how  much  stimulus 
was  applied  after   Crisp's  death,   we   are   not   informed. 
Hers  was  not  a  very  energetic  nature,  and  she  had  some 
misgiving  that  her  invention  was  exhausted.    At  any  rate, 
she  had  now  let  four  years  go  by  without  attempting 
anything  new.     Her  third  book  was  not  published  for  the 
space  of  a  lustrum  after  her  release  from  Court,  and  then 
only  under  strong  pressure  of  the  res  angtcsta  domi.     There 
had  been  some  talk  of  laying  out  the  amount  paid  for 
'  Cecilia  '  in  the  purchase  of  an  annuity.     But  we  do  not 
find  that  this  saving  plan  was  executed.     What  has  been 
contemptuously  called  'board,  lodging,  and  two  hundred 
a  year,'  was  no  bad  provision  for  a  single  lady  of  thirty- 
four,  who  was  producing  nothing,  and  had  no  income  of 
her  own.    Boswell,  it  is  true,  declared  that  he  would  farm 
her  out  himself  for  double  or  treble  the  money ;  but  then 
Boswell  did   not   know  a   great  deal  of  female  authors. 
Burney  was  much  better  aware  what  to  expect  from  his 
daughter's  enterprise  and  resolution  ;  and  we  are  by  no 
means  sure  that,  in  accepting  for  her  the  offered  place,  he 


156  Burkes  Opinion. 

proved  himself  a  less  practical  man  than  the  '  irresponsible 
reviewers '  who  have  derided  him  as  a  moon-struck 
worshipper  of  royalt}'.  Burke,  who  certainly  did  not 
undervalue  Miss  Burney,  and  who  knew  something  of  her 
family  circumstances,  was  delighted  at  the  news,  and 
thought  that  the  Queen  had  never  shown  more  good 
sense  than  in  appointing  Miss  Burney  to  her  service ; 
though  he  afterwards  owned  to  having  miscalculated, 
when  the  service  turned  out  to  mean  confinement  to  such 
a  companion  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 

But  neithei-  the  irksomeness  of  the  duty,  nor  the 
character  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  was  known  to  the  outer 
w^orld.  Both  required  experience  to  make  them  under- 
stood. How  by  degrees  they  disclosed  themselves  to 
Miss  Burney,  we  shall  learn  presently.  For  the  feud 
which  sprang  up  between  the  two  ladies,  it  must,  in  fair- 
ness, be  owned  that  the  elder  was  not  wholly  answerable. 
Miss  Burney — we  ought  now  properly  to  call  her  Mrs. 
Burne}' — had  been  appointed  second  Keeper  of  the  Robes. 
She  seems  to  have  supposed  that  this  put  her  on  a  level 
with  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  giving  the  latter  the  advantage 
of  formal  precedence  only.  But  whatever  had  been  the 
relation  of  Mrs.  Haggerdorn  to  her  colleague,  it  appears 
clear  that  Fanny,  a  much  younger,  and  quite  inexperi- 
enced person,  was  intended  to  be  subordinate.  Thus, 
when  she  expresses  a  fear  that,  by  want  of  spirit  to  assert 
it,  she  had  lost  a  right  to  invite  guests  to  table,  we  cannot 
but  remember  that,  in  the  terms  proposed  to  her,  the 
table  had  been  described  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's.  The 
chief  Keeper,  as  we  shall  see,  was  coarse  and  offensive  in 
speech,  domineering  and  tyrannical  in  action,  but  her 
junior  sometimes  resented  a  tone  of  superiority  and 
command  which  their  ro\al  mistress  evidently  thought 
natural  and  reasonable. 


Horace    Walpoles  Regret.  157 

Whatever  injury  Miss  Burney  may  have  sustained  by 
entering  the  palace,  her  readers  at  least  have  no  cause  to 
complain.  '  I  am  glad  for  her  interest,'  wrote  Walpole, 
*  though  sorry  for  my  own,  that  Evelina  and  Cecilia 
are  to  be  transformed  into  a  Madame  de  Motteville,  as 
I  shall  certainly  not  live  to  read  her  Memoirs,  though 
I  might  another  novel.'  But  what  was  to  Horace  a 
source  of  regret,  may  be  to  us  matter  for  congratulation. 
Fanny's  Diaries  are  now  much  more  studied  than  her 
novels.  Few  of  us  would  wish  to  exchange  the  journal  of 
her  life  at  Court  for  another  fiction  from  her  pen.  The 
Harrels,  the  Delvilles,  the  Briggses,  about  whom  Burke 
and  Reynolds  and  Mrs.  Delany  talked  as  if  they  were 
real  personages,  are  for  most  of  us  names  that  call  up  no 
association.  Queen  Charlotte  and  stout  King  George  are 
better  known  to  us  than  any  other  royal  pair  mentioned 
in  English  history.  And  for  this  we  are  in  great  measure 
indebted  to  the  little  lady  who  joined  their  household 
in  July,  1786.  The  likeness  of  the  Queen,  which  we 
remember  as  well  as  we  do  the  features  of  our  mothers,  is 
entirely  of  her  drawing;  while  she  contributes  not  a  few 
of  the  sketches  which  are  combined  in  our  impression  of 
the  monarch  who  loved  music,  and  backgammon,  and 
homely  chat,  and  Ogden's  sermons,  as  much  as  he 
detested  popery,  and  whiggery,  and  freethinking,  and 
Wilkes.  Nor  are  characters  of  another  kind  wanting  in 
this  journal.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  arrogance,  her  inso- 
lence, her  peevishness,  her  ferocious  selfishness,  her 
broken  English,  are  more  familiar  to  the  present  genera- 
tion than  the  humours,  the  affectations,  the  piebald 
dialect  of  Madame  Duval,  or  than  the  traits  of  any  of  the 
other  figures  in  Evelina.  The  Senior  Robe-keeper  was  no 
doubt  as  indifferent  to  posthumous  reputation  as  she  was 
to  the  contemporary  opinion  of   all  who  could  not    dis- 


158  The  ScJiwelleiiber^. 

place  her.  That  she  ran  any  risk  from  the  satire  of  her 
timorous  assistant  was  a  thought  which  never  occurred  to 
her  ilHterate  mind.  She  hardly  knew  what  satire  meant. 
She  flattered  herself  that  Harry  Bunbury  could  not 
caricature  her  because  she  had  no  hump.  For  writers 
of  imagination  she  had  an  unbounded  contempt.  '  I 
won't  have  nothing  what  }ou  call  novels,'  she  once  cried 
in  Fanny's  presence,  '  what  you  call  romances,  what  you 
call  histories — I  might  not  read  such  what  you  call  stuff — 
not  I !'  Had  she  been  one  degree  less  callous,  or  one 
degree  less  ignorant,  she  might  have  been  slower  to  pro- 
voke the  hostility  of  Johnson's  *  little  character-monger.' 
Well  !  we  have  her  portrait,  most  carefully  executed. 
And  we  have  also,  by  the  same  cunning  hand,  vivid 
delineations  of  many  other  persons,  more  or  less  notable, 
and  of  several  interesting  scenes  that  fell  under  the 
artist's  view  during  her  connection  with  the  Queen.  We 
do  not  go  to  Miss  Burney's  record  of  those  five  years  for 
secrets  of  state,  or  politics,  or  even  Court  scandal — with 
which  last,  indeed,  she  seems  to  have  busied  herself  as 
little  as  with  the  first  two — but  for  a  picture  of  the 
domestic  life  and  manners  of  the  Sovereign  and  his 
consort.  It  is  no  small  proof  of  the  journalist's  tact  and 
discretion  that  she  was  able  to  produce  so  candid  a 
narrative  of  what  she  experienced  and  witnessed  without 
giving  offence  to  the  family  concerned.  The  Duke  of 
Sussex  is  reported  to  have  said,  that  he  and  the  other 
surviving  children  of  George  HI.  had  been  alarmed  when 
the  Diaries  of  Madame  d'Arblay  were  announced  for 
publication,  but  pleased  with  the  book  when  it  appeared; 
'  though  I  think,'  added  his  Royal  Highness,  '  that  she  is 
rather  hard  on  poor  old  Schwellenberg.'  The  Duke,  of 
course,  had  seen  the  Schwellenberg  only  in  her  part  of  an 
abject  toad-eater.     Yet   there   may    be  something  in  his 


A^Iiss  Burneys  Apartments.  159 

observation.  Fanny  had  a  light  touch,  but,  Hke  other 
women,  was  unforgiving  towards  an  enemy  of  her  own 
sex. 

Our  readers  must  not  suppose  that  Miss   Burney,  on 
her  appointment,  went  to  Hve  in  Windsor  Castle.     Some 
years  before  that  time,  the  Castle  had  been  forsaken  b}- 
the  royal  family  as  uninhabitable.     A  sort  of  makeshift 
palace,    known   as    the    Upper    Lodge,    or  the    Queen's 
Lodge,*  was  erected  hard  by,  opposite  the  South  Terrace  ; 
a  long  narrow  building,  with  battlements  fronting  north- 
ward towards  the  old  towers,  and  southward  towards  a 
walled  garden,  at  the  further  end  of  which  was  placed  the 
Lower  Lodge,  a  smaller  building  of  similar   character, 
appropriated  to  the  use  of  the   Princesses.     Fanny,  as  an 
attendant  on  the  person  of  the  Queen,  was  quartered  in  the 
Upper  Lodge.    "  My  Windsor  apartment,"  she  wrote,  "  is 
extremely  comfortable.     I  have  a  large  drawing-room,  as 
they  call  it,  which  is  on  the  ground-floor,  as  are  all  the 
Queen's   rooms,   and   which    faces   the    Castle    and    the 
venerable  Round  Tower,  and  opens  at  the  further  side, 
from  the  windows,  to  the  Little  Park.     It  is  airy,  pleasant, 
clean,  and  healthy.     My  bedroom  is  small,  but  neat  and 
comfortable  ;  its  entrance  is  only  from  the  drawing-room, 
and  it  looks  to  the  garden.     These  two  rooms  are  delight- 
fully independent  of  all  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  contain 
everything  I  can  desire  for  my  convenience  and  comfort." 
The  sitting-room  had  a  view  of  the  walk  leading  to  the 
Terrace,  access  to  which  was  obtained  by  a  flight  of  steps 
and  an  iron  gate.     Mrs.  Delany's  door  was  at  a  distance  of 
less  than  fifty  yards  from  the  Queen's  Lodge.     The  paltry 
and  uncomfortable   barracks  erected    under  George  IIL 
no  longer  discredit  the  Crown  of  England.     The  restora- 

•'•  It  was  sometimes  called  the  '  Queen's  Lodge,'  because  it  stood  on  the  site 
of  the  older  (}ueen  Anne's  Lod^e. 


i6o  A  Day  s  Duties. 

tion  of  Windsor  Castle  was  commenced  in  1800,  and 
occupied  a  good  many  years.  '  In  1823  the  Queen's 
House  was  pulled  down,  and  the  present  royal  stables, 
built  in  1839,  occupy  part  of  the  site.  It  is,  indeed,  very 
difficult  to  identify  any  of  thel  andmarks  now  ;  everything 
has  been  so  completely  changed.  The  steps  and  the 
iron  gate,  the  railings  and  the  Princesses'  garden,  have 
all  disappeared  as  completely  as  the  Upper  and  Lower 
Lodges."^ 

In  the  following  passage  we  have  a  summary  of  the 
new  Robe-keeper's  usual  round  of  daily  duties  : 

"  I  rise  at  six  o'clock,  dress  in  a  morning  gown  and  cap, 
and  wait  my  first  summons,  which  is  at  all  times  from 
seven  to  near  eight,  but  commonly  in  the  exact  half-hour 
between  them.  The  Queen  never  sends  for  me  till  her 
hair  is  dressed.  This,  in  a  morning,  is  always  done  by 
her  wardrobe-woman,  Mrs.  Thielky,  a  German,  but  who 
speaks  English  perfectly  well.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  since 
the  first  week,  has  never  come  down  in  a  morning  at  all. 
The  Queen's  dress  is  finished  by  Mrs.  Thielky  and  myself. 
No  maid  ever  enters  the  room  while  the  Queen  is  in  it. 
Mrs.  Thielky  hands  the  things  to  me,  and  I  put  them  on. 
'Tis  fortunate  for  me  I  have  not  the  handing  them  !  I 
should  never  know  which  to  take  first,  embarrassed  as  I 
am,  and  should  run  a  prodigious  risk  of  giving  the  gown 
before  the  hoop,  and  the  fan  before  the  neckerchief.  By 
eight  o'clock,  or  a  little  after,  for  she  is  extremely 
expeditious,  she  is  dressed.  She  then  goes  out  to  join 
the  King,  and  be  joined  by  the  Princesses,  and  they  all 
proceed  to  the  King's  chapel  in  the  Castle,  to  prayers, 
attended  by  the  governesses  of  the  Princesses,  and  the 
King's    equerry.     Various    others   at    times   attend  ;    but 

*  I^oftie's  '  Windsor  Caslle.' 


Dressing  for  the  Day.  1 6  r 

only  these  indispensably.  I  then  return  to  m}'  own  room 
to  breakfast.  I  make  this  meal  the  most  pleasant  part  of 
the  day ;  I  have  a  book  for  my  companion,  and  I  allow 
myself  an  hour  for  it.  .  .  .  At  nine  o'clock  I  send  off  m\' 
breakfast-things,  and  relinquish  my  book,  to  make  a 
serious  and  steady  examination  of  everything  I  have  upon 
my  hands  in  the  way  of  business — in  which,  preparations 
for  dress  are  alwa)s  included,  not  for  the  present  da}- 
alone,  but  for  the  Court-days,  which  require  a  particular 
dress  ;  for  the  next  arriving  birthday  of  any  of  the  Royal 
Family,  every  one  of  which  requires  new  apparel ;  for 
Kew,  where  the  dress  is  plainest ;  and  for  going  on  here, 
where  the  dress  is  very  pleasant  to  me,  requiring  no 
show  nor  finery,  but  merely  to  be  neat,  not  inelegant,  and 
moderately  fashionable.  That  over,  I  have  my  time  at 
my  own  disposal  till  a  quarter  before  twelve,  except  on 
Wednesdays  and  Saturdays,  when  I  have  it  only  to  a 
quarter  before  eleven.  .  .  .  These  times  mentioned  call 
me  to  the  irksome  and  quick-returning  labours  of  the 
toilette.  The  hour  advanced  on  the  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays  is  for  curling  and  craping  the  hair,  which  it 
now  requires  twice  a  week.  A  quarter  before  one  is  the 
usual  time  for  the  Queen  to  begin  dressing  for  the  da}-. 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  then  constantly  attends ;  so  do  I  ; 
Mrs.  Thielky,  of  course,  at  all  times.  We  help  her  off 
with  her  gown,  and  on  with  her  powdering  things,  and 
then  the  hairdresser  is  admitted.  She  generally  reads 
the  newspapers  during  that  operation.  When  she  observes 
that  I  have  run  to  her  but  half  dressed,  she  constantly 
gives  me  leave  to  return  and  finish  as  soon  as  she  is 
seated.  If  she  is  grave,  and  reads  steadily  on,  she  dis- 
misses me,  whether  I  am  dressed  or  not  ;  but  at  all  times 
she  never  forgets  to  send  me  away  while  she  is  powdering, 
with  a  consideration   not  to   spoil  my  clothes,  that  one 

II 


1 62  Fatwue. 


'A 


"would  not  expect  belonged  to  her  high  station.  Neither 
does  she  ever  detain  me  without  making  a  point  of  reading 
here  and  there  some  little  paragraph  aloud.  .  .  .  Few 
minutes  elapse  ere  I  am  again  summoned.  I  find  her 
then  always  removed  to  her  state  dressing-room,  if  any 
room  in  this  private  mansion  can  have  the  epithet  of 
state.  There,  in  a  very  short  time,  her  dress  is  finished. 
She  then  says  she  won't  detain  me,  and  I  hear  and  see  no 
more  of  her  till  bedtime.  .  .  . 

"  At  five,  we  have  dinner.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  I 
meet  in  the  eating-room.  We  are  commonly  tete-a-tete. 
....  When  we  have  dined,  we  go  upstairs  to  her  apart- 
ment, which  is  directly  over  mine.  Here  we  have  coffee 
till  the  terracmg  is  over  :  this  is  at  about  eight  o'clock.  Our 
tete-a-tete  then  finishes,  and  we  come  down  again  to  the 
eating-room.  There  the  equerry,  whoever  he  is,  comes  to 
tea  constantly,  and  with  him  any  gentleman  that  the 
King  or  Queen  may  have  invited  for  the  evening ;  and 
when  tea  is  over,  he  conducts  them,  and  goes  himself,  to 
the  concert-room.  This  is  commonly  about  nine  o'clock. 
From  that  time,  if  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  is  alone,  I  never 
quit  her  for  a  minute,  till  I  come  to  my  little  supper  at 
near  eleven.  Between  eleven  and  twelve  my  last  summons 
usuall}'  takes  place,  earlier  and  later  occasionally.  Twenty 
minutes  is  the  customary  time  then  spent  with  the  Queen  : 
half  an  hour,  I  believe,  is  seldom  exceeded.  I  then  come 
back,  and  after  doing  whatever  I  can  to  forward  my  dress 
for  the  next  morning,  I  go  to  bed — and  to  sleep,  too, 
believe  me  :  the  early  rising,  and  a  long  day's  attention  to 
new  affairs  and  occupations,  cause  a  fatigue  so  bodily, 
that  nothing  mental  stands  against  it,  and  to  sleep  I  fall 
the  moment  I  have  put  out  my  candle  and  laid  down  my 
head." 

The  best-known   writer  of  that   day  was  wounded  at 


Royal  Snuff.  163 

first  by  having  to  '  answer  the  bell,'  Hke  any  chamber- 
maid ;  and  she  had  cast  on  her  another  burden,  which 
even  her  loyalty  could  not  consider  dignified.  She  had 
to  mix  the  Queen's  snuff.  To  perform  this  task  belonged 
to  her  place,  and  it  was  an  inflexible  rule  with  her  Majesty 
that  discipline  must  be  preserved.  We  cannot  help 
thinking  that  there  was  a  touch  of  regret  in  the  King's 
voice  when  he  said  : 

'  Miss  Burney,  I  hear  you  cook  snuff  very  well.' 

'  Miss  Burney,'  exclaimed  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  '  I 
hope  you  hate  snuff;  for  I  hate  it  of  all  things  in  the 
world.' 

Thus  we  see  that  disaffection  lurked  even  in  members 
of  the  Royal  House. 

We  pause  here  for  a  moment  to  notice  that  a  precau- 
tion adopted  by  Mrs.  Phillips,  in  her  replies  to  her  sister's 
Court  Journal,  of  giving  fictitious  names  to  some  of  the 
persons  mentioned,  was  imitated,  when  the  Diary  was 
printed,  by  substituting  the  names  invented  by  Susan  for 
the  real  ones  which  occurred  in  the  original.  Thus,  in 
the  published  volumes  from  which  our  extracts  are  taken, 
Mr.  Turbulent  stands  for  M.  de  Guiffardiere,*  a  clergy- 
man who  held  the  office  of  French  reader  to  the  Queen 
and  the  Princesses;  Colonel  Welbred  is  Colonel  Greville  ; 
and  Colonel  Fairly  is  the  Honourable  Stephen  Digby, 
who  lost  his  first  wife,  a  daughter  of  Lord  Ilchester,  in 
1787,  and  married  Miss  Gunning,  called  in  the  Diary 
Miss  Fuzilier,  in  1790. 

Next  to  the  King  and  Queen,  the  most  important 
figures  in  Fanny's  new  life  are  their  fair  daughters,  the 
Princesses  who  inhabited  the  Lower  Lodge.    *  The  history 

*  Commonly  known  as  the  Rev.  Charles  Giffardier.  He  had  a  prebendal 
stall  at  Salisbury,  and  was  vicar  of  Newington,  and  rector  of  Berkhampstead. 
— Croker  in  the  Quarterly  Review. 

II — 2 


164  The  Princesses. 

of  the  daughters,'  says  Thackeray,  'as  httle  Miss  Burney 
has  painted  them,  is  dehghtful.  They  were  handsomer- 
she  calls  them  beautiful ;  they  were  most  kind,  loving, 
and  ladylike ;  they  were  gracious  to  every  person,  high 
and  low,  who  served  them.  They  had  many  little  accom- 
plishments of  their  own.  This  one  drew  :  that  one  played 
the  piano :  they  all  worked  most  prodigiously,  and  fitted 
up  whole  suites  of  rooms — pretty  smiling  Penelopes — with 
their  busy  little  needles  ....  The  prettiest  of  all,  I 
think,  is  the  father's  darling,  the  Princess  Amelia,  pathetic 
for  her  beauty,  her  sweetness,  her  early  death,  and  for 
the  extreme  passionate  tenderness  with  which  the  King 
loved  her.'  Three  weeks  after  Miss  Burney  entered  on 
her  post,  occurred  the  birthday  of  this  favourite  child. 
On  such  festivals,  when  the  weather  was  fine,  the  Royal 
Family  never  failed  to  walk  on  the  Terrace,  which  was 
crowded  with  persons  of  distinction,  who,  by  this  mode 
of  showing  respect,  escaped  the  necessity  of  attending 
the  next  Drawing-room.  On  the  present  occasion,  Mrs. 
Delany  was  carried  in  her  sedan — the  gift  of  the  King — 
to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  appeared  on  the  promenade 
with  the  new  Keeper  of  the  Robes  b\'  her  side.  "  It  was 
really  a  mighty  pretty  procession,"  writes  Fanny.  "  The 
little  Princess,  just  turned  of  three  years  old,  in  a  robe- 
coat  covered  with  fine  muslin,  a  dressed  close  cap,  white 
gloves,  and  a  fan,  walked  on  alone  and  first,  highly 
delighted  in  the  parade,  and  turning  from  side  to  side  to 
see  everybody  as  she  passed  :  for  all  the  terracers  stand 
up  against  the  walls,  to  make  a  clear  passage  for  the 
Royal  Family,  the  moment  they  come  in  sight.  Then 
followed  the  King  and  Queen,  no  less  delighted  them- 
selves with  the  joy  of  their  little  darling.  The  Princess 
Royal,  leaning  on  Lady  Elizabeth  Waldegrave,  followed 
at  a  little  distance  ;  next  the  Princess  Augusta,  holding 


,f<SC~cJ,Uy^ 


J/'ir  .>')iiiccssi's.   i/.(n:>\  ^np/iliL  ,r)uK- Hiu,/i<r 


A  Pretty  Procession.  165 

by  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster ;  and  next  the  Princess 
Ehzabeth,  holding  by  Lady  Charlotte  Bertie.  Office 
here  takes  place  of  rank,  which  occasioned  Lady  Elizabeth 
Waldegrave,  as  lady  of  her  bedchamber,  to  walk  with  the 
Princess  Royal.  Then  followed  the  Princess  Mary  with 
Miss  Goldsworthy,*  and  the  Princess  Sophia  with  Made- 
moiselle Montmoulin  and  Miss  Planta  ;t  then  General 
Bude  and  the  Duke  of  Montague  \X  and,  lastly,  Major 
Price,  who,  as  equerry,  always  brings  up  the  rear,  walks 
at  a  distance  from  the  group,  and  keeps  off  all  crowd 
from  the  Royal  Family." 

'  One  sees  it,'  adds  Thackeray :  '  the  band  playing  its 
old  music  ;  the  sun  shining  on  the  happy  loyal  crowd,  and 
lighting  the  ancient  battlements,  the  rich  elms,  and  purple 
landscape,  and  bright  green  sward :  the  royal  standard 
drooping  from  the  great  tower  yonder  ;  as  old  George 
passes,  followed  by  his  race,  preceded  by  the  charming 
infant,  who  caresses  the  crowd  with  her  innocent 
smiles.' 

The  Diary  proceeds  :  '  On  sight  of  Mrs.  Delany,  the 
King  instantly  stopped  to  speak  to  her.  The  Queen,  of 
course,  and  the  little  Princess,  and  all  the  rest,  stood 
still,  in  their  ranks.  They  talked  a  good  while  with  the 
sweet  old  lady ;  during  which  time  the  King  once  or 
twice  addressed  himself  to  me.  I  caught  the  Queen's 
eye,  and  saw  in  it  a  little  surprise,  but  by  no  means  any 
displeasure,  to  see  me  of  the  party. 

"  The  little  Princess  went  up  to  Mrs.  Delany,  of  whom 
she  is  very  fond,  and  behaved  like  a  little  angel  to  her  : 
she  then,  with  a  look  of  inquiry  and  recollection,  slowly, 
of  her  own  accord,  came  behind  Mrs.  Delany  to  look  at 

*  Sub-governess  of  the  Princesses. 

f  English  teacher  to  the  two  eldest  Princesses. 

i  Master  of  the  Horse. 


1 66  A   Charviincr  Infant. 

me.     *  I  am  afraid,'  said   I,  in  a  whisper,  and  stooping 
down,  'your  Royal  Highness  does  not  remember  me  ?' 

"  What  think  you  was  her  answer  ?  An  arch  httle 
smile,  and  a  nearer  approach,  with  her  lips  pouted  out  to 
kiss  me.  I  could  not  resist  so  innocent  an  invitation  ; 
but  the  moment  I  had  accepted  it,  I  was  half  afraid  it 
might  seem,  in  so  public  a  place,  an  improper  liberty  : 
however,  there  was  no  help  for  it.  She  then  took  my 
fan,  and  having  looked  at  it  on  both  sides,  gravely  returned 
it  me,  saying,  '  O  !  a  brown  fan  !'  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Royal  Visit  to  Nuneham — A  Present  from  the  Queen— Oflficial  Exhortations — 
Embarrassments  at  Nuneham — A  Laborious  Sunday — Hairdressing — The 
Court  visits  Oxford — Journey  thither — Reception  by  the  University — 
Address  and  Reply — Kissing  Hands — Christchurch — Fatigues  of  the  Suite 
—  Refreshment  under  Difficulties — A  Surprise — The  Routine  of  Court  Life^ 
The  Equerries — Draughts  in  the  Palace— Early  Prayers — Barley-water — The 
London  Season — JNIrs.  Siddons — Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  Apartments— Her 
Tame  Frogs — Her  Behaviour  to  Miss  Burney — Cruel  Treatment — A  Change 
for  the  Better — Newspaper  Reports — Conversation  with  the  (^ueen — Miss 
Burney  as  Reader — Her  Attainments,  Tastes,  and  Powers. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  scene  described  at  the  end  of  our 
last  chapter,  the  Court  set  out  on  a  visit  to  Lord  and 
Lady  Harcourt  at  Nuneham.  The  arrangement  was  that 
the  royal  party  should  pass  the  first  day  with  their  host 
and  hostess ;  spend  the  second  and  third  in  excursions  to 
Oxford  and  Blenheim  respectively,  sleeping  each  night  at 
Nuneham  ;  and  return  the  fourth  day  to  Windsor.  Miss 
Burney  was  informed  that  she  was  to  be  one  of  her 
Majesty's  suite.  In  making  this  communication  to  her, 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  took  occasion  to  say  :  '  I  tell  you 
once,  I  shall  do  for  3'ou  what  I  can  ;  you  are  to  have  a 
gown!'  Seeing  Fann}-  draw  back  in  surprise  at  this 
abrupt  speech,  the  important  old  lady  added :  '  The 
Queen  will  give  you  a  gown  ;  the  Queen  says  you  are  not 
rich.'  Offended  at  the  grossness  with  which  the  intended 
gracious  present  was  offered,  our  inexperienced  Court 
servant  declared  a  wish  to  decline  it.  Her  superior 
instantly  flew  into  a  passion.  '  Miss  Bernar,'  cried  she, 
quite  angrily,  '  I  tell  you  once,  when  the  Queen  will  give 


1 68  Royal   Visit  to  Nuneham. 

you  a  gown,*  you  must  be  humble,  thankful,  when  you  are 
Duchess  of  Ancaster  !'  Before  the  journey  to  Nuneham 
took  place,  Fanny,  rather  unwisely,  expressed  her  regret 
that  she  had  some  time  previously  neglected  an  opportunity 
of  being  introduced  to  the  lady  whose  house  she  was  about 
to  visit ;  she  had  met  Lord  Harcourt,  she  said,  and 
thought  it  might  have  smoothed  her  way  to  know  some- 
thing of  his  Countess  also.  She  was  promptly  told  that 
she  was  utterly  insignificant — that,  going  with  the  Queen, 
she  was  sure  of  civil  treatment ;  but  that  whether  or  not 
she  had  a  servant,  or  any  change  of  dress,  was  of  no  con- 
sequence. There  is  no  need,'  said  the  senior  Robe- 
Keeper,  '  that  you  should  be  seen.  I  shall  do  everything 
that  I  can  to  assist  you  to  appear  for  nobody.' 

In  fact,  the  whole  expedition  might  have  seemed  to  be 
planned  for  the  purpose  of  convincing  her  that  any  im- 
portance she  had  once  enjoyed  was  now  absolutely  gone. 
Their  Majesties  went  to  Nuneham  to  breakfast.  Miss 
Burney  followed  in  the  afternoon,  with  Miss  Planta, 
English  teacher  of  the  Princesses,  Mrs.  Thielky,  the 
Queen's  wardrobe- woman,  and  one  or  two  more  of  the 
royal  attendants.  On  their  arrival,  they  found  the  house 
to  be  '  one  of  those  straggling,  half-new,  half-old,  half- 
comfortable,  and  half-forlorn  mansions,  that  are  begun  in 
one  generation  and  finished  in  another.'  We  have  a 
graphic  and  amusing  description  of  accidents  encountered 
and  discomforts  endured,  before  the  hapless  and  helpless 
diarist  was  settled  for  the  night  :  the  being  handed  from 
her  carriage  by  a  common  postilion ;  the  deserted  hall, 
where  not  even  a  porter  was  to  be  seen ;  the  entire 
absence    of  a   welcome,   the   whole   family  being  in   the 

*  Macaulay  says  that  this  ))i()niisc  of  a  j^own  was  never  performed  ;  but  he 
is  mistaken.  Miss  Burney  ilid  j;et  the  gown  after  some  delay.  It  was  'a  lilac 
tabby,'  whatever  that  may  be,  or  may  have  been.     (Diaiy,  ii.  189.) 


Official  Eiubarrassments.  169 

Park,  with  the  King  and  Queen  and  Princesses,  and  the 
mistress  of  the  house  having  deputed  no  one  to  act  for 
her ;  the  want  of  assistance  in  searching  for  her  apart- 
ment ;  the  wanderings  through  unknown  mazy  passages  ; 
the  '  superfine  men  in  yellow-laced  liveries  '  occasionally 
met  sauntering  along,  who  disdained  to  waste  a  word  in 
answer  to  inquiries  ;  the  sitting  down  at  length  in  despair 
in  a  room  destined  for  one  of  the  Princesses  ;  the  alarm 
at  being  surprised  there  by  its  owner  and  her  sisters  ;  the 
subsequent  promises,  only  made  to  be  broken,  of  guidance 
to  the  wished-for  haven  ;  and  finally,  when  that  haven 
had  at  last  been  reached,  the  humiliation  of  being  sum- 
moned to  supper  by  a  gentleman-footman  haughtily  calling 
out  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  '  The  equerries  ivant  the 
ladies  !'  It  is  impossible  to  read  the  account  of  these 
'  difficulties  and  disgraces '  without  seeing  that  the  shy, 
sensitive,  flattered  novel-writer  had  indeed  mistaken  her 
vocation  when  she  accepted  service  in  a  royal  house- 
hold. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  was  appointed  to  be 
observed,  after  due  attendance  at  Church,  by  a  visit  to 
the  University  of  Oxford.  Late  on  Saturday  night,  Miss 
Burney  received  the  Queen's  commands  to  belong  to  the 
suite  on  the  morrow,  and  rejoiced  exceedingly  that  she 
had  brought  with  her  a  new  Chambery  gauze,  instead  of 
only  the  dress  she  wore,  according  to  her  Cerbera's 
advice.  We  abridge  Fanny's  narrative  of  her  laborious 
Sabbath : 

"  August  13TH. — At  six  o'clock  my  hairdresser,  to  my 
great  satisfaction,  arrived.  Full  two  hours  was  he  at 
work,  yet  was  I  not  finished,  when  Swarthy,  the  Queen's 
hairdresser,  came  rapping  at  my  door,  to  tell  me  her 
Majesty's  hair  was  done,  and  she  was  waiting  for  me.     I 


I/O  The  Court   Visits  Oxford. 

hurried  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  ran  down  without  any  cap. 
She  smiled  at  sight  of  my  hasty  attire,  and  said  I  should 
not  be  distressed  about  a  hairdresser  the  next  day,  but 
employ  Swarthy's  assistant,  as  soon  as  he  had  done  with 
the  Princesses:  'You  should  have  had  him,'  she  added, 
'  to-day,  if  I  had  known  you  wanted  him.' 

"  When  her  Majest}-  was  dressed,  all  but  the  hat,  she 
sent  for  the  three  Princesses ;  and  the  King  came  also. 
I  felt  very  foolish  with  my  uncovered  head  ;  but  it  was 
somewhat  the  less  awkward,  from  its  being  very  much  a 
custom,  in  the  Royal  Family,  to  go  without  caps  ;  though 
none  that  appear  before  them  use  such  a  freedom. 

"  As  soon  as  the  hat  was  on — '  Now,  Miss  Burney,' 
said  the  Queen,  '  I  won't  keep  you  ;  you  had  better  go 
and  dress  too." "" 

Breakfast  and  morning  service  followed,  and  then  came 
the  Oxford  expedition  : 

"  How  many  carriages  there  were,  and  how  the}'  were 
arranged,  I  observed  not  sufficiently  to  recollect  ;  but  the 
party  consisted  of  their  Majesties,  the  Princesses  Royal, 
Augusta,  and  Elizabeth,  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster,  Lord 
and  Lady  Harcourt,  Lady  Charlotte  Bertie,  and  the  two 
Miss  Vernons.  These  last  ladies  are  daughters  of  the 
late  Lord  Vernon,  and  sisters  of  Lady  Harcourt.  General 
Harcourt,  Colonel  Fairly,  and  Major  Price,  and  Mr. 
Hagget,  with  Miss  Planta  and  myself,  completed  the 
group.  Miss  Planta  and  I,  of  course,  as  the  only  un- 
dignified persons,  brought  up  the  rear.  .  .  .  The  city  of 
Oxford  afforded  us  a  very  noble  view  on  the  road,  and  its 
spires,  towers,  and  domes  soon  made  me  forget  all  the 
little  objects  of  minor  spleen  that  had  been  crossing  me 
as  I  journeyed  towards  them  ;  and,  indeed,  by  the  time  I 


Reception  by  tJie   University.  171 

arrived  in  the  midst  of  them,  their  grandeur,  nobiHty, 
antiquity,  and  elevation  impressed  my  mind  so  forcibly, 
that  I  felt,  for  the  first  time  since  my  new  situation  had 
taken  place,  a  rushing  in  of  ideas  that  had  no  connection 
with  it  whatever.  The  roads  were  lined  with  decently- 
dressed  people,  and  the  high  street  was  so  crowded  we 
were  obliged  to  drive  gently  and  carefully,  to  avoid 
trampling  the  people  to  death.  Yet  their  behaviour  was 
•perfectly  respectful  and  proper.  Nothing  could  possibly 
be  better  conducted  than  the  whole  of  this  expedition.' 

The  royal  party  were  received  b}-  the  Vice-Chancellor, 
and  all  the  heads  of  colleges  and  professors  then  in 
residence,  who  conducted  them  in  state  to  the  Theatre, 
which  was  crowded  with  spectators.  The  King  took  his 
seat,  with  his  head  covered,  on  the  Chancellor's  chair, 
the  Queen  and  Princesses  sitting  below  him  to  the  left. 
An  address,  which  was  read  by  the  Vice-Chancellor,  con- 
tained, among  other  expressions  of  loyalty,  the  congratula- 
tions of  the  University  to  the  King  on  his  recent  escape 
from  the  knife  of  Margaret  Nicholson  ;  at  the  same  time 
touching  on  the  distress  which  the  attempt  had  occasioned 
the  Queen,  and  paying  a  tribute  to  her  amiable  and 
virtuous  character. 

"  The  Queen  could  scarcely  bear  it,  though  she  had 
already,  I  doubt  not,  heard  it  at  Nuneham,  as  these 
addresses  must  be  first  read  in  private,  to  have  the 
answers  prepared.  Nevertheless,  this  public  tribute  of 
loyalty  to  the  King,  and  of  respect  to  herself,  went  grate- 
fully to  her  heart,  and  filled  her  eyes  with  tears — which 
she  would  not,  however,  encourage,  but,  smiling  through 
them,  dispersed  them  with  her  fan,  with  which  she  was 
repeatedly  obliged  to  stop  their  course  down  her  cheeks. 


172  Kissing  Hands. 

The  Princesses,  less  guarded,  the  moment  their  father's 
danger  was  mentioned,  wept  with  but  httle  control  .... 

"  When  the  address  was  ended,  the  King  took  a  paper 
from  Lord  Harcourt,  and  read  his  answer  ....  When  he 
had  done,  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  bowed  to  the  Chan- 
cellor and  Professors,  and  delivered  the  answer  to  Lord 
Harcourt,  who,  walking  backwards,  descended  the  stairs, 
and  presented  it  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  .... 

"  After  this,  the  Vice-Chancellor  and  Professors  begged 
for  the  honour  of  kissing  the  King's  hand.  Lord  Har- 
court was  again  the  backward  messenger ;  and  here 
followed  a  great  mark  of  goodness  in  the  King  :  he  saw 
that  nothing  less  than  a  thoroughbred  old  courtier,  such 
as  Lord  Harcourt,  could  walk  backwards  down  these 
steps,  before  himself,  and  in  sight  of  so  full  a  hall  of 
spectators  ;  and  he  therefore  dispensed  with  being  ap- 
proached to  his  seat,  and  walked  down  himself  into  the 
area,  where  the  Vice-Chancellor  kissed  his  hand,  and  was 
imitated  by  every  Professor  and  Doctor  in  the  room. 

"  Notwithstanding  this  considerate  good-nature  in  his 
Majesty,  the  sight,  at  times,  was  very  ridiculous.  Some 
of  the  worthy  collegiates,  unused  to  such  ceremonies,  and 
unaccustomed  to  such  a  presence,  the  moment  they  had 
kissed  the  King's  hand,  turned  their  backs  to  him,  and 
walked  away  as  in  any  common  room  ;  others,  attempting 
to  do  better,  did  still  worse,  by  tottering  and  stumbling, 
and  falling  foul  of  those  behind  them  ;  some,  ashamed  to 
kneel,  took  the  King's  hand  straight  up  to  their  mouths ; 
others,  equally  off  their  guard,  plumped  down  on  both 
knees,  and  could  hardly  get  up  again  ;  and  many,  in  their 
confusion,  fairly  arose  by  pulling  his  Majesty's  hand  to 
raise  them  .... 

"  It  was  vacation  time  ;  there  were  therefore  none  of  the 
students  present  .... 


Christchurch.  1 73 

"  At  Christ  Church,  where  we  arrived  at  about  three 
o'clock,  in  a  large  hall  there  was  a  cold  collation  prepared 
for  their  Majesties  and  the  Princesses.  It  was  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  hall.  I  could  not  see  of  what  it  con- 
sisted, though  it  would  have  been  ver}-  agreeable,  after  so 
much  standing  and  sauntering,  to  have  given  my  opinion 
of  it  in  an  experimental  way.  Their  Majesties  and  the 
Princesses  sat  down  to  this  table:  as  well  satisfied,  I 
believe,  as  any  of  their  subjects  so  to  do.  The  Duchess 
of  Ancaster  and  Lady  Harcourt  stood  behind  the  chairs 
of  the  Queen  and  the  Princess  Royal.  There  were  no 
other  ladies  of  sufficient  rank  to  officiate  for  Princesses 
Augusta  and  Elizabeth.  Lord  Harcourt  stood  behind 
the  King's  chair ;  and  the  Vice-Chancellor,  and  the  Head 
of  Christ  Church,  with  salvers  in  their  hands,  stood  near 
the  table,  and  ready  to  hand  to  the  three  noble  waiters 
whatever  was  wanted  :  while  the  other  Reverend  Doctors 
and  Learned  Professors  stood  aloof,  equally  ready  to 
present  to  the  Chancellor  and  the  Master  whatever  they 
were  to  forward. 

"  We,  meanwhile,  untitled  attendants,  stood  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  forming  a  semicircle,  and  all 
strictly  facing  the  Royal  collationers  ....  A  whisper  was 
soon  buzzed  through  the  semicircle  of  the  deplorable 
state  of  our  appetite ;  and  presently  it  reached  the  ears 
of  some  of  the  worthy  Doctors.  Immediately  a  new 
whisper  was  circulated,  which  made  its  progress  with 
great  vivacity,  to  offer  us  whatever  we  would  wish,  and  to 
beg  us  to  name  what  we  chose.  Tea,  coffee,  and  choco- 
late, were  whispered  back.  The  method  of  producing, 
and  the  means  of  swallowing  them,  were  much  more 
difficult  to  settle  than  the  choice  of  what  was  acceptable. 
Major  Price  and  Colonel  Fairly,  however,  seeing  a  verj- 
large  table  close  to  the  wainscot  behind  us,  desired  our 


174  RefresJiment  under  Difficulties, 

refreshments  might  be  privately  conveyed  there,  behind 
the  semicircle,  and  that,  while  all  the  group  backed  very 
near  it,  one  at  a  time  might  feed,  screened  by  all  the  rest 
from  observation.  I  suppose  I  need  not  inform  you,  my 
dear  Susan,  that  to  eat  in  presence  of  any  of  the  Royal 
Family,  is  as  much  hors  d'usage  as  to  be  seated.  This 
plan  had  speed}'  success,  and  the  very  good  Doctors  soon, 
by  sly  degrees  and  with  watchful  caution,  covered  the 
whole  table  with  tea,  coffee,  chocolate,  cakes,  and  bread 
and  butter  .... 

"  The  Duchess  of  Ancaster  and  Lady  Harcourt,  as  soon 
as  the  first  serving  attendance  was  over,  were  dismissed 
from  the  royal  chairs,  and  most  happy  to  join  our  group, 
and  partake  of  our  repast.  The  Duchess,  extremely 
fatigued  with  standing,  drew  a  small  body  of  troops  before 
her,  that  she  might  take  a  few  minutes'  rest  on  a  form  by 
one  of  the  doors ;  and  Lady  Charlotte  Bertie  did  the 
same,  to  relieve  an  ankle  which  she  had  unfortunately 
sprained.  'Poor  MissBurney!'  cried  the  good-natured 
Duchess,  '  I  wish  she  could  sit  down,  for  she  is  unused 
to  this  work.  She  does  not  know  yet  what  it  is  to  stand 
for  five  hours  following,  as  we  do  .  .  .  .' 

"  In  one  of  the  colleges  I  stayed  so  long  in  an  old 
chapel,  lingering  over  antique  monuments,  that  all  the 
party  were  vanished  before  I  missed  them,  except  Doctors 
and  Professors  ;  for  we  had  a  train  of  those  ever}where  ; 
and  I  was  then  a  little  surprised  by  the  approach  of  one 
of  them,  saying,  '  You  seem  inclined  to  abide  with  us. 
Miss  Burney  ?'  —  and  then  another,  in  an  accent  of 
facetious  gallantry,  cried,  '  No,  no ;  don't  let  us  shut  up 
Miss  Burney  among  old  tombs ! — No,  no  !'  " 

At  Magdalene  College,  Miss  Burney  and  two  or  three 
other  members  of  the   suite,  having  slipped  away  to  a 


Routine  of  Court  Life.  175 

small  parlour,  sat  down  to  rest,  and  enjoy  some  apricots 
which  Mr.  Fairly  had  brought  in  his  pockets.  Suddenly 
the  door  opened  ;  the  Queen  entered  ;  the  truants  started 
up,  and  tried  to  look  as  if  sitting  was  a  posture  unknown 
to  them ;  while  desperate  exertions  were  made  to  hide 
the  forbidden  fruit.  '  I  discovered,'  says  Fanny,  '  that 
our  appetites  were  to  be  supposed  annihilated,  at  the 
same  time  that  our  strength  was  to  be  invincible.'  How- 
ever, her  fatigues  ended  at  last,  and  she  was  permitted  to 
spend  the  Monday  in  peace  among  the  pictures  and 
gardens  of  Nuneham,  not  being  commanded  to  join  in 
the  excursion  to  Blenheim. 

After  this  expedition,  the  year  wore  on  slowly  and 
tediously.  There  were  more  royal  birthdays  to  be  kept, 
with  the  usual  terracings  and  concerts.  In  alternate 
weeks,  the  Court  removed  from  Windsor  to  Kew  for  two 
or  three  days,  and  again  returned  to  Windsor.  There 
were  journeys  from  Kew  to  St.  James's,  and  back,  on  the 
days  appointed  for  Drawing-rooms.  But  the  ordinary 
routine  of  Windsor  and  Kew  was  monotony  itself.  '  The 
household  always  rose,  rode,  dined  at  stated  intervals. 
Day  after  day  was  the  same.  At  the  same  hour  at  night 
the  King  kissed  his  daughters' jolly  cheeks;  the  Princesses 
kissed  their  mother's  hand ;  and  Madame  Thielky  brought 
the  royal  nightcap.  At  the  same  hour  the  equerries  and 
women-in-waiting  had  their  little  dinner,  and  cackled 
over  their  tea.  The  King  had  his  backgammon  or  his 
evening  concert ;  the  equerries  yawned  themselves  to 
death  in  the  anteroom.'*  And  it  must  be  remembered 
that  poor  Miss  Burney  had  only  a  partial  share  even  in 
this  unvaried  round  of  existence.  Her  views  of  the 
Court  proper  were  confined  to  glimpses  through  half- 
opened    doors,  and    down    the   vistas    of   long  corridors. 

*  Tliackeray. 


176  The  King's  Equerries. 

She  was  not  even  permitted  to  stand  at  the  entrance  of 
the  room  where  '  nothing  but  Handel  was  played;'  and 
when  Mrs.  Siddons  once  came  to  the  Lodge  to  read  a 
play,  the  Keepers  of  the  Robes  were  only  allowed  access 
to  'a  convenient  adjoining  room.'  She  was  licensed  to 
receive  hardly  anyone  from  the  outer  world,  except  her 
father  and  sisters,  Mrs.  Delany,  and  the  Lockes  ;  beyond 
these,  she  had  to  use  the  utmost  caution  in  admitting 
visitors :  while  her  associates  within  the  palace  were 
restricted  to  the  King's  equerries,  Mr.  Turbulent,  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  Miss  Planta,  and  a  few  other  persons  in 
positions  resembling  her  own.  She  saw  no  other  com- 
pany but  the  strangers  who  from  time  to  time  were  sent 
to  dine  at  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  table. 

His  Majesty's  equerries  were  certainly  not  selected  for 
their  brilliant  attainments,  or  their  powers  of  conversa- 
tion, or  even  for  their  polished  manners.  One  of  these 
gentlemen,  a  Colonel  Goldsworth}-,  whom  Miss  Burney 
had  not  before  seen,  arrived  for  his  turn  of  duty  at  the 
end  of  September.  '  He  seems  to  me,'  says  the  Diary, 
'  a  man  of  but  little  cultivation  or  literature,  but  delight- 
ing in  a  species  of  dry  humour,  in  which  he  shines  most 
successfully,  by  giving  himself  up  for  its  favourite  butt.' 
He  soon  began  to  warn  Fanny  of  the  discomforts  of 
winter  service  in  the  ill-built  and  ill-contrived  Queen's 
Lodge.  '  Wait  till  November  and  December,  and  then 
you'll  get  a  pretty  taste  of  them  ....  Let's  see,  how 
many  blasts  must  you  have  every  time  you  go  to  the 
Queen  ?  First,  one  upon  opening  your  door ;  then 
another,  as  you  get  down  the  three  steps  from  it,  which 
are  exposed  to  the  wind  from  the  garden-door  downstairs  ; 
then  a  third,  as  you  turn  the  corner  to  enter  the  passage  ; 
then  you  come  plump  upon  another  from  the  hall  door; 
then  comes  another,  fit  to  knock  you  down,  as  vou  turn 


Barley-  Water.  177 

to  the  upper  passage ;  then,  just  as  you  turn  towards  the 
Queen's  room  comes  another ;  and  last,  a  whiff  from  the 
King's  stairs,  enough  to  blow  you  half  a  mile  off.  One 
thing,'  he  added,  '  pray  let  me  caution  you  about — don't 
go  to  early  prayers  in  November ;  if  you  do,  that  will 
completely  kill  you  !  .  .  .  .  When  the  Princesses,  used  to 
it  as  they  are,  get  regularly  knocked  up  before  this  busi- 
ness is  over,  off  they  drop  one  by  one : — first  the  Queen 
deserts  us ;  then  Princess  Elizabeth  is  done  for ;  then 
Princess  Royal  begins  coughing ;  then  Princess  Augusta 
gets  the  snuffles ;  and  all  the  poor  attendants,  my  poor 
sister*  at  their  head,  drop  off,  one  after  another,  like  so 
many  snuffs  of  candles :  till  at  last,  dwindle,  dwindle, 
dwindle — not  a  soul  goes  to  the  Chapel  but  the  King,  the 
parson,  and  myself;  and  there  we  three  freeze  it  out 
together  !' 

That  the  King  was  considerate  to  his  attendants,  the 
following  story  by  the  same  elegant  wit  will  testify.  It 
was  told  after  a  hard  day's  hunting :  "  '  After  all  our 
labours,'  said  he,  '  home  we  come,  with  not  a  dry  thread 
about  us,  sore  to  the  very  bone,  and  forced  to  smile  all 
the  time,  and  then  : 

"  '  Here,  Goldsworthy !'  cries  his  Majesty ;  so  up  I 
comes  to  him,  bowing  profoundly,  and  my  hair  dripping 
down  to  my  shoes.  '  Goldsworthy,  I  say,'  he  cries,  '  will 
you  have  a  little  barley-water?' 

"  '  And,  pray,  did  you  drink  it  ?' 

"  '  I  drink  it  ? — drink  barley-water  ?  No,  no;  not  come 
to  that  neither.  But  there  it  was,  sure  enough  ! — in  a  jug 
fit  for  a  sick-room;  just  such  a  thing  as  you  put  upon  a 
hob  in  a  chimney,  for  some  poor  miserable  soul  that  keeps 
his  bed  !  And  :  '  Here,  Goldsworthy,'  says  his  Majesty, 
*  here's  the  barley-water  !' 

^  Miss  Goldsworthy,  sub-governess  of  the  Princesses. 

12 


178  The  London  Season. 

"  'And  did  the  King  drink  it  himself?' 

"  '  Yes,  God  bless  his  Majesty !  but  I  was  too  humble  a 
subject  to  do  the  same  as  the  King !'" 

In  January,  1787,  the  Court  removed  to  London  for 
the  winter.  During  their  residence  in  the  capital,  the 
Royal  Family  occupied  Buckingham  House,  then  called 
the  Queen's  House.  But  the  season  in  town  was  inter- 
rupted by  short  weekly  visits  to  Windsor.  The  only 
Sundays  of  the  year  which  George  III.  spent  in  London 
were  the  six  Sundays  of  Lent.  Miss  Burney  went  to  the 
play  once  or  twice,  and  also  attended  '  the  Tottenham 
Street  oratorios.'  She  had  more  than  one  illness  in  the 
early  part  of  this  year  ;  but  her  custodians  courteously 
entreated  their  prisoner,  and  gave  her  liberty  to  go  to  her 
friends  to  refresh  herself.  Under  this  permission,  she  had 
opportunities  of  meeting  Mrs.  Cholmondeley,  Sir  Joshua, 
Mrs.  Montagu,  Mrs.  Vesey,  Horace  Walpole,*  and  sundry 
other  old  acquaintances.  But  at  the  beginning  of  June 
the  relaxations  of  this  pleasant  time,  as  well  as  the 
fatiguing  journeys  backwards  and  forwards  to  Windsor, 
came  to  an  end,  and  the  household  were  again  settled  in 
the  Upper  Lodge.  The  rest  of  the  year  passed  in  much 
the  same  way  as  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1786  had 
done,  but  with  fewer  noticeable  incidents. 

In  August  occurred  the  commanded  visit  of  Mrs. 
Siddons,  to  which  we  have  before  referred  : 

"  In  the  afternoon  ....  her  Majesty  came  into  the 
room,  and,  after   a   little   German   discourse  with   Mrs. 

*  '  The  last  time  I  saw  her  (Mrs.  Vesey)  before  I  left  London,'  writes  Wal- 
pole, '  Miss  Burney  passed  the  evening  there,  looking  quite  recovered  and  well  ; 
and  so  clieerful  and  agreeable  thai  the  Court  seems  only  to  have  imjiroved  the 
ease  of  her  manner,  instead  of  stamping  more  reserve  on  it,  as  I  feared.  JUit 
what  slij^ht  graces  it  can  give  will  not  compensate  to  us  and  the  world  for  the 
loss  of  her  company  and  her  writings.' — Walpole  to  Hannah  More,  June  15, 
1787. 


Mrs..   Siddons.  1 79 

Schwellenberg,  told  me  Mrs.  Siddons  had  been  ordered  to 
the  Lodge,  to  read  a  play,  and  desired  I  would  receive  her 
in  my  room. 

"  I  felt  a  little  queer  in  the  office  ;  I  had  only  seen  her 
twice  or  thrice,  in  large  assemblies,  at  Miss  Monckton"s, 
and  at  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's,  and  never  had  been  intro- 
duced to  her,  nor  spoken  with  her.  However,  in  this 
dead  and  tame  life  I  now  lead,  such  an  interview  was  by 
no  means  undesirable, 

"  I  had  just  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  when  she 
entered  the  passage  gallery.  I  took  her  into  the  tea- 
room, and  endeavoured  to  make  amends  for  former 
distance  and  taciturnity,  by  an  open  and  cheerful  recep- 
tion. I  had  heard  from  sundry  people  (in  old  days)  that 
she  wished  to  make  the  acquaintance  ;  but  ....  now  that 
we  came  so  near,  I  was  much  disappointed  in  my  expecta- 
tions ....  I  found  her  the  Heroine  of  a  Tragedy — sublime, 
elevated,  and  solemn.  In  face  and  person,  truly  noble 
and  commanding;  in  manners,  quiet  and  stiff;  invoice, 
deep  and  dragging ;  and  in  conversation,  formal,  senten- 
tious, calm,  and  dry.  I  expected  her  to  have  been  all 
that  is  interesting;  the  delicacy  and  sweetness  with  which 
she  seizes  every  opportunity  to  strike  and  to  captivate 
upon  the  stage  had  persuaded  me  that  her  mind  was 
formed  with  that  peculiar  susceptibility  which,  in  different 
modes,  must  give  equal  powers  to  attract  and  to  delight 
in  common  life.  But  I  was  very  much  mistaken.  As  a 
stranger,  I  must  have  admired  her  noble  appearance  and 
beautiful  countenance,  and  have  regretted  that  nothing  in 
her  conversation  kept  pace  with  their  promise ;  and,  as  a 
celebrated  actress,  I  had  still  only  to  do  the  same. 
Whether  fame  and  success  have  spoiled  her,  or  whether 
she  only  possesses  the  skill  of  representing  and  embellish- 

12 — 2 


i8o  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  s  Rooms. 

ing  materials  with  which  she    is   furnished   by  others,  I 
know  not  ;  but  still  I  remain  disappointed. 

"  She  was  scarcely  seated,  and  a  little  general  discourse 
begun,  before  she  told  me — all  at  once — that  '  there  was 
no  part  she  had  ever  so  much  wished  to  act  as  that 
of'  Cecilia.'  I  made  some  little  acknowledgment,  and 
hurried  to  ask  when  she  had  seen  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
^Jiss  Palmer,  and  others  with  whom  I  knew  her  ac- 
quainted. The  play  she  was  to  read  was  'The  Provoked 
Husband.'  She  appeared  neither  alarmed  nor  elated  by 
her  summons,  but  calmly  to  look  upon  it  as  a  thing  of 
course,  from  her  celebrity." 

The  company  that  assembled  in  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's 
apartments  occupied  their  leisure  hours  with  small-talk, 
mild  flirtations,  and  trifling  amusements,  varied  by  occa- 
sional misunderstandings.  The  first  Keeper  of  the  Robes 
domineered  over  them  all,  and  her  rule  was  a  savage 
tyranny,  tempered  by  ill-health.  Her  infirmities  some- 
times detained  her  in  London  for  weeks  together.  During 
her  absence,  her  junior  presided  at  the  dinner-table,  and 
made  tea  for  the  equerries.  Great  was  the  jo\-  whenever 
the  old  lad}"  went  up  to  town  to  consult  her  ph3sician. 
Then  Mr.  Turbulent,*  more  gay  and  flighty  than  beseemed 
a  married  clergy  man, t  would  practise  on  the  patent  prudery 
of  Fanny's  character  by  broaching  strange  theories  of 
morality,  and  breaking  out  in  wild  rhapsodies  of  half- 
amatory  admiration.  Then  the  colonels-in-waiting,  relieved 
from  the  watchful  eyes  of  Cerbera,  exerted  themselves  for 
the  entertainment  of  the  fair  tea-maker.  They  were  not 
always    successful.      Miss    Burney   cared    but    little    for 

*  What  induced  Macaulay  to  describe  this  gentleman  as  '  half-witted,'  we 
are  at  a  loss  to  conjecture.  He  possessed,  as  Miss  Burney  bears  witness, 
remarkable  cleverness,  extraordinary  attainments  and  great  powers  of  con- 
versation. 

f  Me  had  a  wife  to  whom  he  was  stronj^ly  attached. 


.5^  £>/  ^uins^erou^A 


^.fh  cStdc/on.) 


Her  Tame  Frogs.  i8i 

Colonel  Goldsworthy's  rough  humour,  and  still  less  for 
the  vocal  performances  of  a  certain  Colonel  Manners, 
who,  in  love  with  his  own  voice,  and  with  what  he  called 
the  songs  that  he  heard  at  church,  insisted  on  regaling 
his  friends  with  snatches  from  Tate  and  Brady,  married  to 
the  immortal  notes  of  the  National  Anthem.  Fanny 
once  or  twice  caused  some  unpleasantness  by  endeavour- 
ing to  escape  from  the  duty  of  receiving  the  equerries  in 
the  evening.  As  soon  as  the  Schwellenberg  returned, 
she  was  again  thrown  into  the  background.  Destitute  of 
every  attraction,  yet  constantly  demanding  notice,  the 
principal  could  not  bear  to  see  the  least  attention 
bestowed  on  anyone  else.  '  Apparently,'  says  the  Diary, 
*  she  never  wishes  to  hear  my  voice  but  when  we  are  tete- 
a-tete,  and  then  never  is  in  good-humour  when  it  is  at 
rest.'  When  in  company,  she  would  sometimes  talk 
about  a  pair  of  tame  frogs  which  she  kept,  and  fall  into 
an  ecstasy  while  describing  '  their  ladder,  their  table,  and 
their  amiable  ways  of  snapping  live  flies.'  '  And  I  can 
make  them  croak  when  I  will,'  she  would  say,  '  when  I 
only  go  so  to  my  snuff-box — knock,  knock,  knock — they 
croak  all  what  I  please.'  Rather  to  our  surprise,  we  hear 
of  this  lady  being  once  engaged  in  reading  :  the  author 
was  Josephus,  '  which  is  the  only  book  in  favour  at 
present,  and  serves  for  all  occasions,  and  is  quoted  to 
solve  all  difficulties.'  But  the  sole  effectual  mode  of 
amusing  her,  after  the  gentlemen  had  retired,  was  to  join 
her  in  a  game  at  cards.  Fanny  disliked  cards,  and  knew 
little  of  trumps  or  honours ;  but  to  avert  threatened 
attacks  of  spasms,  she  was  at  length  fain  to  waive  her 
objections,  and  learn  piquet.  When  in  the  least  crossed, 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg  put  no  restraint  on  her  temper, 
language,  or  demeanour.  If  her  servants  kept  her  waiting 
for   her    coach,   she  would    talk   of  havinjr   them    trans- 


1 82  Her  Behavioiii''  to  Miss  Burney. 

ported  ;  if  Miss  Burney  spoke  of  taking  tea  with  Mrs. 
Delany,  she  would  leave  her  unhelped  at  the  dinner-table. 
Such  was  la  Presidente.  More  than  once,  Miss  Burney 
felt  her  ill-usage  so  intolerable  that  she  was  only  held 
back  from  resigning  her  appointment  by  reluctance  to 
mortify  her  father.  The  most  violent  dispute  between 
them  occurred  towards  the  end  of  November,  1787,  when, 
during  a  journey  to  town  for  a  Drawing-Room,  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  had  insisted  upon  keeping  the  window  of 
the  carriage  on  her  companion's  side  open,  though  a  sharp 
wind  was  blowing,  which  before  their  arrival  in  London 
set  up  an  inflammation  in  poor  Fanny's  eyes.  The  scene 
on  the  journey  back  is  thus  described  : 

*'  The  next  day,  when  we  assembled  to  return  to 
Windsor,  Mr.  de  Luc  was  in  real  consternation  at  sight 
of  xny  eyes ;  and  I  saw  an  indignant  glance  at  my  coad- 
jutrix,  that  could  scarce  content  itself  without  being 
understood.  .   .   . 

"  Some  business  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  occasioned  a 
dela}'  of  the  journe}^  and  we  all  retreated  back ;  and 
when  I  returned  to  my  room,  Miller,  the  old  head  house- 
maid, came  to  me,  with  a  little  neat  tin  saucepan  in  her 
hand,  saying,  '  Pray,  ma'am,  use  this  for  your  eyes :  'tis 
milk  and  butter,  sz^c/z  as  I  used  to  make  for  Madame  Hagger- 
dorn  when  she  travelled  in  the  winter  with  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg.' 

"  I  really  shuddered  when  she  added,  that  all  that  poor 
woman's  misfortunes  with  her  eyes,  which,  from  inflam- 
mation after  inflammation,  grew  near!}-  blind,  were  at- 
tributed by  herself  to  these  journeys,  in  which  she  was 
forced  to  have  the  glass  down  at  her  side  in  all  weathers, 
and  frequently  the  glasses  behind  her  also ! 

"  Upon  my  word  this  account  of  my  predecessor  was 


Crtiel  Treatment.  183 

the  least  exhilarating  intelligence  I  could  receive  !  Goter 
told  me,  afterwards,  that  all  the  servants  in  the  house 
had  remarked  /  was  going  just  the  same  way  ! 

"  Miss  Planta  presently  ran  into  my  room,  to  say  she 
had  hopes  we  should  travel  without  this  amiable  being ; 
and  she  had  left  me  but  a  moment  when  Mrs.  Stainforth 
succeeded  her,  exclaiming,  '  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't 
leave  her  behind ;  for  Heaven's  sake,  Miss  Burney,  take 
her  with  you  !' 

"  'Twas  impossible  not  to  laugh  at  these  opposite 
interests ;  both,  from  agony  of  fear,  breaking  through  all 
restraint. 

"  Soon  after,  however,  we  all  assembled  again,  and  got 
into  the  coach.  Mr.  de  Luc,  who  was  my  vis-a-vis, 
instantly  pulled  up  the  glass. 

"  '  Put  down  that  glass  !'  was  the  immediate  order. 

"  He  affected  not  to  hear  her,  and  began  conversing.    . 

"  She  enraged  quite  tremendously,  calling  aloud  to  be 
obeyed  without  delay.  He  looked  compassionately  at 
me,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said,  '  But, 
ma'am " 

"  *  Do  it,  Mr.  de  Luc,  when  I  tell  you  !  I  will  have  it  ! 
When  you  been  too  cold,  you  might  bear  it !' 

" '  It  is  not  for  me,  ma'am,  but  poor  Miss  Burney.' 

*'  '  O,  poor  Miss  Burney  might  bear  it  the  same !  put 
it  down,  Mr.  de  Luc !  without,  I  will  get  out !  put  it 
down,  when  I  tell  you  !  It  is  my  coach  !  I  will  have  it 
selfs !  I  might  go  alone  in  it,  or  with  one,  or  with  what 
you  call  nobody,  when  I  please  T 

"  Frightened  for  good  Mr.  de  Luc,  and  the  more  for 
being  much  obliged  to  him,  I  now  interfered,  and  begged 
him  to  let  down  the  glass.  Very  reluctantly  he  complied, 
and  I  leant  back  in  the  coach,  and  held  up  my  muff  to 
my  eyes. 


184  Cruel  Treatment. 

"  What  a  journey  ensued !  To  see  that  face  when 
lighted  up  with  fury  is  a  sight  for  horror  !  I  was  glad  to 
exclude  it  by  my  muff. 

"  Miss  Planta  alone  attempted  to  speak.  I  did  not 
think  it  incumbent  on  me  to  '  make  the  agreeable,'  thus 
used ;  I  was  therefore  wholly  dumb  :  for  not  a  word,  not 
an  apology,  not  one  expression  of  being  sorry  for  what  I 
suffered,  was  uttered.  The  most  horrible  ill-humour, 
violence,  and  rudeness,  were  all  that  were  shown.  Mr. 
de  Luc  was  too  much  provoked  to  take  his  usual  method 
of  passing  all  off  by  constant  talk  :  and  as  I  had  never 
seen  him  venture  to  appear  provoked  before,  I  felt  a  great 
obligation  to  his  kindness. 

"  When  we  were  about  half-way,  we  stopped  to  water 
the  horses.  He  then  again  pulled  up  the  glass,  as  if 
from  absence.  A  voice  of  fury  exclaimed,  '  Let  it  down  ! 
without,  I  won't  go  !' 

"  '  I  am  sure,'  cried  he,  '  all  Mrs.  de  Luc's  plants  will 
be  killed  by  this  frost !' 

"  For  the  frost  was  ver)^  severe  indeed. 

"Then  he  proposed  my  changing  places  with  Miss 
Planta,  who  sat  opposite  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and  con- 
sequently on  the  sheltered  side. 

"'Yes!'  cried  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  'Miss  Burney 
might  sit  there,  and  so  she  ought  !' 

"  I  told  her  briefly  I  was  always  sick  in  riding  back- 
wards. 

"  '  Oh,  ver  well !  when  you  don't  like  it,  don't  do  it. 
You  might  bear  it  when  you  like  it !  What  did  the  poor 
Haggerdorn  bear  it !  when  the  blood  was  all  running 
down  from  her  eyes  !' 

"  This  was  too  much  !  '  I  must  take,  then,'  I  cried, 
*  the  more  warning  !'  " 


A   Change  for  the  Better.  185 

Even  this  quarrel  blew  over.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg*  con- 
tinued to  look  black,  and  hurl  thunderbolts,  as  long  as 
the  peccant  eyes  remained  inflamed,  but  as  these  gradu- 
ally grew  well,  her  brows  cleared  and  her  incivility  wore 
off,  till  the  sufferer  became  far  more  in  favour  than  she  had 
ever  presumed  to  think  herself  till  that  time.  She  was  '  my 
good  Miss  Berner '  at  every  other  word ;  no  one  else  was 
listened  to  if  she  would  speak,  and  no  one  else  was 
accepted  for  a  partner  at  piquet  if  she  would  play. 
Fanny  found  no  cause  to  which  she  could  attribute  this 
change,  and  believed  the  whole  mere  matter  of  caprice. 

In  the  autumn  of  1787,  the  newspapers  began  to  make 
frequent  mention  of  Miss  Burney's  name.  Paragraphs 
appeared  regretting  her  long  silence,  and  the  employment 
to  which  it  was  supposed  to  be  attributable. t  Fanny  had 
many  regrets  connected  with  her  situation  :  she  lamented 
her  dependence  on  her  odious  colleague ;  she  lamented 
the  inferiority  of  most  of  her  associates ;  she  lamented 
her  separation  from  her  old  friends ;  but  we  have  no 
reason  to  think  that  she  repined  at  the  want  of  liberty  to 
print  and  publish.  At  least  we  cannot  discover  any 
passage  in  her  Diary  indicating  such  a  feeling.  Pre- 
sently the  paragraphs  proceeded  to  mingle  rumours 
with  regrets.  The  '  World  '  was  informed  that  Miss 
Burney  '  had  resigned  her  place  about  the  Queen,  and 
had  been  promoted  to  attend  the  Princesses,  an  office  far 
more  suited  to  her  character  and  abilities.'     Then  followed 

*  Croker  was  told  by  the  Right  Hon.  Joseph  Planta,  on  the  authority  of 
Miss  Planta,  that  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was  so  despotic  that  she  was  better 
served,  and  more  attended  to  than  the  Queen  herself.  '  Her  servant  always 
waited  at  the  step  of  her  door  that  she  might  not  have  to  ring  a  bell  ;  and  a 
very  constant  expression  of  hers  was,  that  if  such  and  such  a  thing  was  good 
enough  for  her  Majesty,  it  was  not  good  enough  iox  her.' — ^Jesse's  'George  III.,' 
vol.  ii.,  App.,  p.  539. 

t  '  I  flatter  myself  ;)'£>«  will  never  be  royally  gagged  and  promoted  to  fold 
muslins,  as  has  been  lately  wittily  said  on  Miss  Burney,  in  the  List  of  five 
hundred  living  authors.' — Walpole  to  Hannah  More,  July  12,  1788. 


i86  Fanny  as  Reader  to  the  Queen. 

a  contradiction.  '  The  rumour  of  resignation  was  prema- 
ture, and  only  arose  from  thoughts  of  the  benefit  the 
education  of  the  Princesses  might  reap  from  Miss  Burney's 
virtues  and  accomplishments/  Such  speculations  made 
it  needful  for  their  subject  to  explain  herself  to  the  Queen. 
Fanny  hastened  to  repudiate  all  participation  in  the  idea 
that  it  could  be  promotion  to  her  to  be  transferred  from 
the  service  of  her  Majesty  to  that  of  the  Princesses ;  she 
disclaimed,  with  equal  warmth,  having  the  shghtest  wish 
for  such  a  transference.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  she 
was  perfectly  sincere.  The  Queen,  she  felt,  had  some 
regard  for  her,  and  she  had  a  decided  attachment  to  the 
Queen.  '  Oh,'  she  sighed,  '  were  there  no  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg!' 

One  cannot  help  wondering  if  the  question  whether 
some  more  worthy  position  at  Court  might  not  be  found 
for  Miss  Burney  occurred  to  the  Oueen,  or  to  herself,  at 
this  interview.  If  such  a  thought  did  present  itself,  it 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  mentioned  by  either.  Fanny 
had  early  conceived  the  notion  that  the  Queen  intended 
to  employ  her  as  an  English  reader.  She  was  not 
altogether  wrong.  She  had  been  occasionally  called  on 
to  read,  but  the  result  did  not  prove  very  satisfactory. 
At  the  first  trial  her  voice  was  quite  unmanageable  ;  when 
she  had  concluded,  the  Queen  talked  of  the  Spectator  she 
had  read,  but  forebore  saying  anything  of  any  sort  about 
the  reader.  Of  a  subsequent  attempt  we  have  this  record  : 
'Again  I  read  a  little  to  the  Queen — two  Tatlers ;  both 
happened  to  be  very  stupid  ;  neither  of  them  Addison's, 
and  therefore  reader  and  reading  were  much  on  a  par : 
for  I  cannot  arrive  at  ease  in  this  exhibition  to  her 
Majesty ;  and  where  there  is  fear  or  constraint,  how  de- 
ficient, if  not  faulty,  is  every  performance  !'  For  the  office 
of  preceptress  to  the  Princesses  she  was  even  less  fitted 


Miss  Burneys  Attainments.  187 

than  for  that  of  reader  to  their  mother.  Probably  Mrs. 
Goldsworthy  and  Miss  Planta  were  much  better  quahfied 
to  instruct  their  young  charges  than  Miss  Burney  would 
have  been.  This  may  be  confessed  without  the  slightest 
reflection  on  her  extraordinary  talents.  She  could  afford 
to  have  it  known  that  her  education  had  been  neglected. 
It  was  nothing  that  she  had  withdrawn  rather  ungra- 
ciously from  Johnson's  Latin  lessons.  It  was  little  that 
she  did  not  understand  a  word  of  the  German  which  the 
Royal  Family  commonly  spoke  among  themselves.  Hardly 
any  Englishwomen  in  those  days  read  Latin,  or  were 
acquainted  with  the  language  of  Goethe  and  Wieland. 
But  Miss  Burney  had  not  even  a  strong  taste  for  reading. 
At  the  height  of  her  fame,  her  knowledge  of  ordinar}- 
English  authors  was  surprisingly  limited.  Queen  Charlotte, 
who  read  a  good  deal  in  French  and  English,  as  well  as  in 
German,  was  disappointed  b)^  the  scanty  furniture  of  her 
attendant's  book-shelves.  And  whenever  her  Majesty  or 
anyone  else  at  Court  mentioned  any  standard  or  current 
work  in  her  presence,  it  almost  invariably  happened  that 
she  had  not  read  it.  One  evening,  Cowper's  '  Task  '  was 
referred  to,  and  she  was  asked  if  she  knew  the  poem  ; 
'  Only  by  character,'  was  her  answer.  She  had  not  even 
that  amount  of  acquaintance  with  Churchill's  Satires,  the 
very  existence  of  which  seems  to  have  been  unknown  to 
her.  Akenside's  works  she  knew  of  only  by  some  quota- 
tions which  she  had  heard  from  Mr.  Locke.  It  may,  per- 
haps, be  urged  that  Cowper  was  then  quite  a  new  writer, 
and  that  the  fame  of  Mark  Akenside  and  Charles 
Churchill,  though  bright  when  she  was  a  child,  had 
become  dim  before  she  grew  up.  Well,  then,  take  Gold- 
smith. No  poems  were  more  popular  than  Oliver's  when 
Fanny  began  to  see  the  world  in  Martin's  Street ;  yet  we 
have  her  confession  that  she  never  read  the  '  Traveller,* 


1 88  Her   Tastes  and  Pozvers. 

or  *  The  Deserted  Villat^e,'  till  a  friend  made  her  a  present 
of  them  in  1790.*  This  beinf^  so,  we  cannot  wonder  that 
she  had  never  heard  of  Falconer's  '  Shipwreck  '  when 
Colonel  Digby  produced  a  cop\'  of  that  work.  She  appears 
to  have  been  barely  aware  of  Cumberland's  '  Observer,'  a 
production  in  w^hich  she  herself  and  most  of  her  friends 
were  referred  to,  until  the  Queen  read  some  passages  to 
her,  and  afterwards  lent  her  the  volumes.  She  had  not 
seen  Hawkins's  '  Life  of  Johnson  '  when  the  King  first 
mentioned  it  to  her,  and  '  talked  it  over  with  great 
candour  and  openness.'  Nor  did  she  take  much  interest 
in  literar}'  questions.  The  Scotch  ballad  of  '  The 
Gaberlunzie  Man,'  then  lately  printed  in  Germany,  she 
threw  aside  almost  contemptuously,  though  it  had  been 
lent  her  by  the  Queen.  About  Shakspeare  her  views 
were  those  of  a  most  loyal  subject.  She  reads  Hamlet 
to  Mrs.  Delany,  and  this  is  her  comment  :  '  How  noble 
a  play  it  is,  considered  in  parts  !  how  wild  and  how 
improbable,  taken  as  a  whole  !  But  there  are  speeches, 
from  time  to  time,  of  such  exquisite  beauty  of  language, 
sentiment,  and  pathos,  that  I  could  wade  through  the 
most  thorny  of  roads  to  arrive  at  them.'  The  Queen,  as 
Thackeray  has  observed,  could  give  shrewd  opinions 
about  books,  and  we  suspect  she  presently  learned  to  value 
her  second  Robe-Keeper  for  her  brightness  of  intelligence, 
her  powers  of  description,  and  her  livel}'  humour,  rather 
than  for  the  solidity  or  the  variety  of  her  attainments. 

••'  '  Diary,'  vol.  iii.,  p.  245. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Trial  of  Warren  Hastings — Westminster  Hall— Description  of  it  on  the 
Opening  Day  of  the  Trial— Edmund  Burke— The  other  Manugers— Proces- 
sion of  the  Peers — Entrance  of  the  Defendant — The  Arraignment — Speech 
of  Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow— Reply  of  Warren  Hastings— Opening  of  the 
Trial— Mr.  Windham — His  Admiration  of  Dr.  Johnson — His  Reflections 
on  the  Spectacle — Bearing  of  the  Lord  Chancellor — Windham  on  Hastings 
— William  Pitt — Major  Scott— Conversation  with  Windham — Partisanship 
— Close  of  the  First  Day's  Proceedings — Conference  on  it  with  the  Queen — 
Another  Day  at  the  Trial— Burke's  Great  Speech— Resemblance  between 
Hastings  and  Windham — Fox's  Eloquence — Death  of  Mrs.  Delany. 

On  the  13th  of  February,  1788,  began  the  trial  of  Warren 
Hastings,  Miss  Burney  was  furnished  by  the  Queen  with 
two  tickets  for  the  opening  ceremony.  She  went  accord- 
ingly, accompanied  by  her  brother  Charles,  and  also  by  a 
Miss  Gomme,  of  whom  she  was  commanded  to  undertake 
the  charge.  We  abridge  her  description  of  this  great 
spectacle.  It  should  be  premised  that  the  zeal  with 
which  she  espoused  the  side  of  the  defence  was  due  not 
solely  to  the  favour  shown  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hastings  by 
the  Court,  but  in  an  equal  degree,  at  least,  to  her  own 
personal  friendship  for  the  accused  statesman  and  his 
wife,  with  whom  she  had  become  acquainted  before  she 
joined  the  royal  service  : 

"  We  got  to  Westminster  Hall  between  nine  and  ten 
o'clock  .... 

"  The  Grand  Chamberlain's  Box  is  in  the  centre  of  the 
upper  end  of  the  Hall  :  there  we  sat,  Miss  Gomme  and 


IQO  Westminster  Hall. 

myself,  immediately  behind  the  chair  placed  for  Sir  Peter 
Burrell.  To  the  left,  on  the  same  level,  were  the  ji^reen 
benches  for  the  House  of  Commons,  which  occupied  a 
third  of  the  upper  end  of  the  Hall,  and  the  whole  of  the 
left  side :  to  the  right  of  us,  on  the  same  level,  was  the 
Grand  Chamberlain's  Gallery  .... 

"  The  bottom  of  the  Hall  contained  the  Royal  Family's 
Box  and  the  Lord  High  Steward's  .... 

"  A  gallery  also  was  run  along  the  left  side  of  the  Hall, 
above  the  green  benches,  which  is  called  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle's  Box,  the  centre  of  which  was  railed  off  into 
a  separate  apartment  for  the  reception  of  the  Queen  and 
four  eldest  Princesses,  who  were  then  incog.,  noi  choosing 
to  appear  in  state,  and  in  their  own  Box. 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  placed  a  large  table, 
and  at -the  head  of  it  the  seat  for  the  Chancellor,  and 
round  it  seats  for  the  Judges,  the  Masters  in  Chancery, 
the  Clerks,  and  all  who  belonged  to  the  Law  ;  the  upper 
end,  and  the  right  side  of  the  room,  was  allotted  to  the 
Peers  in  their  robes ;  the  left  side  to  the  Bishops  and 
Archbishops. 

"  Immediately  below  the  Great  Chambelain's  Box  was 
the  place  allotted  for  the  Prisoner.  On  his  right  side  was 
a  box  for  his  own  Counsel,  on  his  left  the  Box  for  the 
Managers,  or  Committee,  for  the  Prosecution  ;  and  these 
three  most  important  of  all  the  divisions  in  the  Hall  were 
all  directly  adjoining  to  where  I  was  seated  .... 

"  The  business  did  not  begin  till  near  twelve  o'clock. 
The  opening  to  the  whole  then  took  place,  by  the  entrance 
of  the  Managers  of  the  Prosecution  ;  all  the  company  were 
already  long  in  their  boxes  or  galleries. 

"  I  shuddered,  and  drew  involuntarily  back,  when,  as 
the  doors  were  Hung  open,  I  saw  Mr.  Burke,  as  Head  of 
the  Committee,  make  his  solemn  entry.     He  held  a  scroll 


The  Procession.  191 

in  his  hand,  and  walked  alone,  his  brow  knit  with  corrod- 
ing care  and  deep  labouring  thought — a  brow  how  different 
to  that  which  had  proved  so  alluring  to  my  warmest 
admiration  when  first  I  met  him  !  so  highly  as  he  had 
been  my  favourite,  so  captivating  as  I  had  found  his 
manners  and  conversation  in  our  first  acquaintance,  and 
so  much  as  I  owed  to  his  zeal  and  kindness  to  me  and 
my  affairs  in  its  progress  !  How  did  I  grieve  to  behold 
him  now  the  cruel  Prosecutor  (such  to  me  he  appeared) 
of  an  injured  and  innocent  man  ! 

"  Mr.  Fox  followed  next,  Mr.  Sheridan,  Mr.  Windham, 
Messrs.  Anstruther,  Grey,  Adam,  Michael  Angelo  Taylor, 
Pelham,  Colonel  North,  Mr.  Frederick  Montagu,  Sir 
Gilbert  Elliot,  General  Burgoyne,  Dudley  Long,  etc.  .  .  . 

"  When  the  Committee  Box  was  filled,  the  House  of 
Commons  at  large  took  their  seats  on  their  green 
benches  .... 

"  Then  began  the  procession,  the  Clerks  entering  first, 
then  the  Lawyers  according  to  their  rank,  and  the  Peers, 
Bishops,  and  Officers,  all  in  their  coronation  robes ;  con- 
cluding with  the  Princes  of  the  Blood, — Prince  William, 
son  to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  coming  first,  then  the 
Dukes  of  Cumberland,  Gloucester,  and  York,  then  the 
Prince  of  Wales  ;  and  the  whole  ending  by  the  Chancellor, 
with  his  train  borne. 

"  They  then  all  took  their  seats. 

"  A  Serjeant-at-Arms  arose,  and  commanded  silence.  .  .  . 

"  Then  some  other  officer,  in  a  loud  voice,  called  out,  as 
well  as  I  can  recollect,  words  to  this  purpose  : — '  Warren 
Hastings,  Esquire,  come  forth  !  Answer  to  the  charges 
brought  against  you ;  save  your  bail,  or  forfeit  your 
recognizance !' 

"  Indeed  I  trembled  at  these  words,  and  hardly  could 
keep  my  place  when   I   found   Mr.    Hastings  was  being 


192  The  Arraignment. 

brought  to  the  bar.  He  came  forth  from  some  place 
immediately  under  the  Great  Chamberlain's  Box,  and 
was  preceded  by  Sir  Francis  Molyneux,  Usher  of  the 
Black  Rod  ;  and  at  each  side  of  him  walked  his  Bails, 
Messrs.  Sullivan  and  Sumner. 

*'  The  moment  he  came  in  sight,  which  was  not  for  full 
ten  minutes  after  his  awful  summons,  he  made  a  low  bow 
to  the  Chancellor  and  Court  facing  him.  I  saw  not  his 
face,  as  he  was  directly  under  me.  He  moved  on  slowly, 
and,  I  think,  supported  between  his  two  Bails,  to  the 
opening  of  his  own  Box  ;  there,  lower  still,  he  bowed 
again  ;  and  then,  advancing  to  the  bar,  he  leant  his  hands 
upon  it,  and  dropped  on  his  knees ;  but  a  voice  in  the 
same  moment  proclaiming  he  had  leave  to  rise,  he  stood 
up  almost  instantaneously,  and  a  third  time  profoundly 
bowed  to  the  Court. 

"  What  an  awful  moment  this  for  such  a  man  !  —  a  man 
fallen  from  such  a  height  of  power  to  a  situation  so  humili- 
ating— from  the  almost  unlimited  command  of  so  large  a 
part  of  the  Eastern  World  to  be  cast  at  the  feet  of  his 
enemies,  of  the  great  tribunal  of  his  country,  and  of  the 
nation  at  large,  assembled  thus  in  a  bod}-  to  try  and  to 
judge  him  !  Could  even  his  prosecutors  at  that  moment 
look  on — and  not  shudder  at  least,  if  they  did  not  blush  ? 

"  The  crier,  I  think  it  was,  made,  in  a  loud  and  hollow 
voice,  a  public  proclamation,  '  That  Warren  Hastings, 
Esquire,  late  Governor-General  of  Bengal,  was  now  on 
his  trial  for  high  crimes  and  misdemeanours,  with  which 
he  was  charged  by  the  Commons  of  Great  Britain  ;  and 
that  all  persons  whatsoever  who  had  aught  to  allege 
against  him  were  now  to  stand  forth.' 

"A  general  silence  followed,  and  the  Chancellor,  Lord 
Thurlow,  now  made  his  speech  .... 

"  Again  Mr.  Hastings  made  the  lowest  reverence  to  the 


^17x1 1 tn  JJjisHnqs 


opening  of  the  Trial.  193 

Court,  and,  leaning  over  the  bar,  answered,  with  much 
agitation,  through  evident  efforts  to  suppress  it,  '  My 
Lords — impressed — deeply  impressed  —  I  come  before 
your  Lordships,  equally  confident  in  my  own  integrity, 
and  in  the  justice  of  the  Court  before  which  I  am  to 
clear  it.'  .... 

"A  general  silence  again  ensued,  and  then  one  of  the 
lawyers  opened  the  cause.  He  began  by  reading  from 
an  immense  roll  of  parchment  the  general  charges  against 
Mr.  Hastings,  but  he  read  in  so  monotonous  a  chant  that 
nothing  else  could  I  hear  or  understand  than  now  and 
then  the  name  of  Warren  Hastings. 

"  During  this  reading,  to  which  I  vainly  lent  all  my 
attention,  Mr.  Hastings,  finding  it,  I  presume,  equally 
impossible  to  hear  a  word,  began  to  cast  his  eyes  around 
the  House,  and  having  taken  a  survey  of  all  in  front  and 
at  the  sides,  he  turned  about  and  looked  up ;  pale  looked 
his  face — pale,  ill,  and  altered.  I  was  much  affected  by 
the  sight  of  that  dreadful  harass  which  was  written  on 
his  countenance.  Had  I  looked  at  him  without  restraint, 
it  could  not  have  been  without  tears.  I  felt  shocked,  too, 
shocked  and  ashamed,  to  be  seen  by  him  in  that  place. 
I  had  wished  to  be  present  from  an  earnest  interest  in  the 
business,  joined  to  firm  confidence  in  his  powers  of 
defence ;  but  his  eyes  were  not  those  I  wished  to  meet  in 
Westminster  Hall  .... 

"  Another  lawyer  now  arose,  and  read  so  exactly  in  the 
same  manner,  that  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  discover 
even  whether  it  was  a  charge  or  an  answer. 

"  Such  reading  as  this,  you  may  well  suppose,  set  every- 
body pretty  much  at  their  ease ;  and  but  for  the  interest 
I  took  in  looking  from  time  to  time  at  Mr.  Hastings,  and 
watching  his  countenance,  I  might  as  well  have  been 
away.     He  seemed  composed  after  the  first  half-hour,  and 

13 


194  ^^'^-    Windham. 

calm ;  but  he  looked  with  a  species  of  indignant  contempt 
towards  his  accusers,  that  could  not,  I  think,  have  been 
worn  had  his  defence  been  doubtful.  Many  there  are 
who  fear  for  him  ;  for  me,  I  own  myself  wholly  confident 
in  his  acquittal  .... 

"  At  length  I  was  called  b}-  a  *  How  d'ye  do,  Miss 
Burney  ?'  from  the  Committee  Box  !  And  then  I  saw 
young  Mr.  Burke,  who  had  jumped  up  on  the  nearest 
form  to  speak  to  me.  Pleasant  enough  !  I  checked  my 
vexation  as  well  as  I  was  able,  since  the  least  shyness  on 
my  part  to  those  with  whom  formerly  I  had  been  social 
must  instantly  have  been  attributed  to  Court  influence ; 
and  therefore,  since  I  could  not  avoid  the  notice,  I  did 
what  I  could  to  talk  with  him  as  heretofore.  He  is, 
besides,  so  amiable  a  young  man,  that  I  could  not  be 
sorry  to  see  him  again,  though  I  regretted  it  should  be 
just  in  that  place,  and  at  this  time  .... 

"  The  moment  I  was  able  to  withdraw  from  young  Mr. 
Burke,  Charles,  who  sat  behind  me,  leant  down  and  told 
me  a  gentleman  had  just  desired  to  be  presented  to  me. 

"  'Who?'  quoth  I. 

"  '  Mr.  Windham,'  he  answered. 

"  I  really  thought  he  was  laughing,  and  answered  accord- 
ingly ;  but  he  assured  me  he  was  in  earnest,  and  that  Mr. 
Windham  had  begged  him  to  make  the  proposition. 
What  could  I  do  ?  There  was  no  refusing :  yet  a  planned 
meeting  with  another  of  the  Committee,  and  one  deep  in 
the  prosecution,  and  from  whom  one  of  the  hardest 
charges  has  come — could  anything  be  less  pleasant  as  I 
was  then  situated  ? 

"  The  Great  Chamberlain's  Box  is  the  onl}-  part  of  the 
hall  that  has  any  communication  with  either  the  Com- 
mittee Box  or  the  House  of  Commons,  and  it  is  also  the 
very  nearest  to  the  prisoner.     Mr.  Windham  I  had  seen 


His  Admiration  of  Johnson.  195 

twice  before — both  times  at  Miss  Monckton's ;  and  any- 
where else  I  should  have  been  much  gratified  by  his 
desire  of  a  third  meeting,  as  he  is  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able, spirited,  well-bred,  and  brilliant  conversers  I  have 
ever  spoken  with.  He  is  a  neighbour,  too,  now,  of 
Charlotte's.  He  is  member  for  Norwich,  and  a  man  of 
famil}'  and  fortune,  with  a  very  pleasing,  though  not 
handsome  face,  a  very  elegant  figure,  and  an  air  of  fashion 
and  vivacity  .... 

"  I  was  sorry  to  see  him  make  one  of  a  set  that  appeared 
so  inveterate  against  a  man  I  believe  so  injuriously 
treated ;  and  my  concern  was  founded  upon  the  good 
thoughts  I  had  conceived  of  him,  not  merely  from  his 
social  talents,  which  are  yet  very  uncommon,  but  from  a 
reason  dearer  to  my  remembrance.  He  loved  Dr.  John- 
son—and Dr.  Johnson  returned  his  affection.  Their 
political  principles  and  connexions  were  opposite,  but 
Mr.  Windham  respected  his  venerable  friend  too  highly 
to  discuss  any  points  that  could  offend  him  ;  and  showed 
for  him  so  true  a  regard,  that,  during  all  his  late  illnesses, 
for  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  his  carriage  and  himself  were 
alike  at  his  service,  to  air,  visit,  or  go  out,  whenever  he 
was  disposed  to  accept  them. 

"  Nor  was  this  all ;  one  tender  proof  he  gave  of  warm 
and  generous  regard,  that  I  can  never  forget,  and  that 
rose  instantly  to  my  mind  when  I  heard  his  name,  and 
gave  him  a  welcome  in  my  eyes  when  they  met  his  face. 
It  is  this  :  Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  last  visit  to  Lichfield,  was 
taken  ill,  and  waited  to  recover  strength  for  travelling 
back  to  town  in  his  usual  vehicle,  a  stage-coach.  As  soon 
as  this  reached  the  ears  of  Mr.  Windham,  he  set  off  for 
Lichfield  in  his  own  carriage,  to  offer  to  bring  him  back 
to  town  in  it,  and  at  his  own  time  .... 

"  Charles  soon  told  me  he  was  at  my  elbow  .... 

13-2 


196  Windham  on  Hastings. 

"  After  the  first  compliments  he  looked  around  him, 
and  exclaimed,  '  What  an  assembly  is  this  !  How  strik- 
ing a  spectacle !  I  had  not  seen  half  its  splendour  down 
there.  You  have  it  here  to  great  advantage  ;  you  lose 
some  of  the  Lords,  but  you  gain  all  the  Ladies.  You 
have  a  very  good  place  here.' 

"  '  Yes ;  and  I  may  safely  say  I  make  a  very  impartial 
use  of  it  :  for  since  here  I  have  sat,  I  have  never  discovered 
to  which  side  I  have  been  listening  !' 

"  He  laughed,  but  told  me  they  were  then  running 
through  the  charges. 

"  '  And  is  it  essential,"  cried  I,  '  that  they  should  so 
run  them  through  that  nobody  can  understand  them  ?  Is 
that  a  form  of  law  ?' 

"  He  agreed  to  the  absurdity  ;  and  then,  looking  still  at 
the  spectacle,  which  indeed  is  the  most  splendid  I  ever 
saw,  arrested  his  eyes  upon  the  Chancellor.  '  He  looks 
very  well  from  hence,'  cried  he  ;  '  and  how  well  he  acquits 
himself  on  these  solemn  occasions  !  With  what  dignity, 
what  loftiness,  what  high  propriety,  he  comports  him- 
self!' .... 

"  Suddenly,  his  eye  dropped  down  upon  poor  Mr.  Hast- 
ings :  the  expression  of  his  face  instantly  lost  the  gaiety 
and  ease  with  which  it  had  addressed  me  ;  he  stopped 
short  in  his  remarks ;  he  fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly  on  this 
new,  and  but  too  interesting  object,  and  after  viewing 
him  some  time  in  a  sort  of  earnest  silence,  he  suddenly 
exclaimed,  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  and  from  an  impulse 
irresistible — '  What  a  sight  is  that  !  to  see  that  man,  that 
small  portion  of  human  clay,  that  poor  feeble  machine  of 
earth,  enclosed  now  in  that  little  space,  brought  to  that 
Bar,  a  prisoner  in  a  spot  six  foot  square — and  to  reflect  on 
his  late  power  !  Nations  at  his  command  !  Princes 
prostrate  at  his  feet ! — What  a  change !  how  must  he  feel 
it! ' 


Conversation  with   Windham.  197 

"  He  stopped,  and  I  said  not  a  word.  I  was  glad  to  see 
him  thus  impressed  ;  I  hoped  it  might  soften  his  enmit}-. 
I  found,  by  his  manner,  that  he  had  never,  from  the 
Committee  Box,  looked  at  him  .... 

"  Recovering,  now,  from  the  strong  emotion  with  which 
the  sight  of  Mr.  Hastings  had  filled  him,  he  looked  again 
around  the  Court,  and  pointed  out  several  of  the  principal 
characters  present,  with  arch  and  striking  remarks  upon 
each  of  them,  all  uttered  with  high  spirit,  but  none  with 
ill-nature. 

"  '  Pitt,'  cried  he,  '  is  not  here  ! — a  noble  stroke  that 
for  the  annals  of  his  administration  !  A  trial  is  brought 
on  by  the  whole  House  of  Commons  in  a  body,  and  he  is 
absent  at  the  very  opening  !  However,'  added  he,  with 
a  very  meaning  laugh,  '  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  "tis  to  his 
eternal  disgrace  !' 

"  Mercy  !  thought  I,  what  a  friend  to  kindness  is 
party  ! 

"  '  Do  you  see.  Scott  ?'  cried  he. 

"  *  No,  I  never  saw  him  ;  pray  show  him  me." 

"  '  There  he  is,  in  green  ;  just  now  by  the  Speaker,  now 
moved  by  the  Committee  ;  in  two  minutes  more  he  will 
be  somewhere  else,  skipping  backwards  and  forwards ; 
what  a  grasshopper  it  is  !' 

"  '  I  cannot  look  at  him,'  cried  I,  '  without  recollecting 
a  very  extraordinary  letter  from  him,  that  I  read  last 
summer  in  the  newspaper,  where  he  answers  some  attack 
that  he  says  has  been  made  upon  him,  because  the  term 
is  used  of  "  a  very  insignificant  fellow  ;"  and  he  printed 
two  or  three  letters  in  the  Public  Advertiser,  in  following 
days,  to  prove,  with  great  care  and  pains,  that  he  knew  it 
was  all  meant  as  an  abuse  of  himself,  from  those  words  !' 

**  *  And  what,'  cried  he,  laughing,  '  do  you  say  to  that 
notion  now  you  see  him  ?' 


1 98  Partisanship. 

"  '  That  no  one,'  cried  I,  examining  him  with  my  glass, 
'  can  possibly  dispute  his  claim  !' 

"  What  pity  that  Mr.  Hastings  should  have  trusted  his 
cause  to  so  frivolous  an  agent  !  I  believe,  and  indeed  it 
is  the  general  belief,  both  of  foes  and  friends,  that  to  his 
officious  and  injudicious  zeal  the  present  prosecution  is 
wholly  owing." 

A  long  conversation — or  rather  several  conversations, 
for  the  talk  was  interrupted  more  than  once — ensued,  in 
the  course  of  which  Miss  Burney,  much  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  Windham,  who  knew  her  friendship  for  Burke, 
declared  herself  a  partisan  of  Hastings,  while  at  the  same 
time  she  admitted  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  merits  of 
the  case — had  not  even  read  the  charges  against  the  late 
Governor-General.  "  I  had  afterwards,''  she  writes,  "  to 
relate  a  great  part  of  this  to  the  Queen  herself.  She  saw 
me  engaged  in  such  close  discourse,  and  with  such 
apparent  interest  on  both  sides,  wath  Mr.  Windham,  that 
I  knew  she  must  else  form  conjectures  innumerable.  So 
candid,  so  liberal  is  the  mind  of  the  Queen,  that  she  not 
only  heard  me  with  the  most  favourable  attention  towards 
Mr.  Windham,  but  was  herself  touched  even  to  tears  by 
the  relation.  We  stayed  but  a  short  time  after  this  last 
conference  ;  for  nothing  more  was  attempted  than  reading 
over  the  charges  and  answers,  in  the  same  useless  manner." 

Miss  Burney  went  again  to  Westminster  Hall  on  the 
second  day  of  Burke's  opening  speech  : 

"  All  I  had  heard  of  his  eloquence,  and  all  I  had  con- 
ceived of  his  great  abilities,  was  more  than  answered  by 
his  performance.  Nervous,  clear,  and  striking  was  almost 
all  that  he  uttered  :  the  main  business,  indeed,  of  his 
coming  forth  was  frequently  neglected,  and  not   seldom 


Burkes  Great  Speech,  199 

wholly  lost ;  but  his  excursions  were  so  fanciful,  so  enter- 
taining, and  so  ingenious,  that  no  miscellaneous  hearer, 
like  myself,  could  blame  them.  It  is  true  he  was  unequal, 
but  his  inequality  produced  an  effect  which,  in  so  long  a 
speech,  was  perhaps  preferable  to  greater  consistency, 
since,  though  it  lost  attention  in  its  falling  off,  it  recovered 
it  with  additional  energy  b}^  some  ascent  unexpected  and 
wonderful.  When  he  narrated,  he  was  easy,  flowing,  and 
natural;  when  he  declaimed,  energetic,  warm,  and  brilliant. 
The  sentiments  he  interspersed  were  as  nobly  conceived 
as  they  were  highly  coloured ;  his  satire  had  a  poignancy 
of  wit  that  made  it  as  entertaining  as  it  was  penetrating ; 
his  allusions  and  quotations,  as  far  as  they  were  English 
and  within  my  reach,  were  apt  and  ingenious  ;  and  the 
wild  and  sudden  flights  of  his  fancy,  bursting  forth  from 
his  creative  imagination  in  language  fluent,  forcible,  and 
varied,  had  a  charm  for  my  ear  and  my  attention  wholly 
new  and  perfectly  irresistible." 

She  was  again  visited  in  her  box  by  Windham,  who,  on 
Hastings  happening  to  look  up,  remarked  that  he  did  not 
like  his  countenance.  "  I  could  have  told  him,"  says 
Fanny,  "that  he  is  reckoned  extremely  like  himself;  but 
after  such  an  observation  I  would  not  venture,  and  only 
said  :  '  Indeed,  he  is  extremely  altered  :  it  was  not  so  he 
looked  when  I  conceived  for  him  that  prepossession  I 
have  owned  to  you.'"  The  Queen's  reporter,  for  such 
she  was,  attended  a  third  time  on  the  day  after  the 
Lords  had  enraged  the  Managers  by  deciding  that 
they  must  complete  their  case  upon  all  the  charges 
before  the  accused  was  called  on  for  any  defence.  She 
heard  Mr.  Fox  speak  for  five  hours  with  a  violence 
that  did  not  make  her  forget  what  she  was  told  of  his 
being  in  a  fury.     His  eloquence  was  not  nearly  so  much 


200  Death  of  Mrs.  Delauy. 

to  her  taste  as  Burke's.  Fox's  countenance  struck  her  as 
hard  and  callous  ;  his  violence,  she  thought,  had  that  sort 
of  monotony  that  seemed  to  result  from  its  being  factitious, 
and  she  felt  less  pardon  for  that  than  for  any  extravagance 
in  Mr.  Burke,  whose  excesses  seemed  at  least  to  be  un- 
affected and  sincere.  Mr.  Fox  appeared  to  her  to  have  no 
such  excuse ;  '  he  looked  all  good-humour  and  negligent 
ease  the  instant  before  he  began  a  speech  of  uninterrupted 
passion  and  vehemence,  and  he  wore  the  same  careless 
and  disengaged  air  the  very  instant  he  had  finished.' 
After  other  attendances  at  the  trial,  Miss  Burney's  mind 
was  withdrawn  from  the  subject  in  which  she  took  so 
much  interest  by  the  last  illness  and  death  of  Mrs. 
Delany.  The  old  lady,  who  died  on  the  15th  of  April, 
1788,  left  some  small  remembrances  to  the  friend  whose 
companionship  had  soothed  her  latter  days. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  King's  Health — Royal  Visit  to  Cheltenham — Excursions — Robert  Raikes 
— Colonel  Digby — The  Duke  of  York — The  Court  attends  the  Musical 
Festival  at  Worcester — Return  to  Windsor — M.  de  Lalande,  the  Astronomer 
— His  Compliments— His  Volubility — Illness  of  the  King — The  King  grows 
worse — '  The  Queen  is  my  Physician  ' — -Alarm  and  Agitation — Grief  of  the 
Queen — The  King  Insane — Arrival  of  the  Prince  of  Wales — Paroxysm  of  the 
King  at  Dinner — The  Queen  111 — The  Physicians — The  Royal  Pair  separated 
— The  Prince  takes  the  Government  at  the  Palace — Prayers  for  the  King's 
Recovery — The  King  and  his  Equerries — Sir  Lucas  Pepys — x\  Privy  Council 
—  Preparations  for  leaving  Windsor — Departure  for  Kew — Mournful  Spec- 
tacle— Mrs.  Schwellenberg  arrives. 

For  many  years  George  III.  had  enjoyed  unbroken  good 
health.  '  The  King,'  wrote  a  well-informed  gossipper*' 
in  January,  1788,  '  walks  twelve  miles  on  his  way  from 
Windsor  to  London,  which  is  more  than  the  Prince  of 
Wales  can  do.'  Early  in  June,  however,  his  Majesty  was 
disturbed  by  passing  symptoms,  which  proved  to  be  fore- 
runners of  an  illness  famous  in  English  history.  The 
complaint,  in  its  first  stage,  was  called  a  bilious  attack ; 
and  when  the  patient  appeared  to  have  thrown  it  off,  he 
was  advised  by  his  physician  to  drink  the  waters  at 
Cheltenham  for  a  month,  in  order  to  complete  his  re- 
covery. On  June  8,  the  King  sent  his  old  friend  Dr. 
Hurd,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  a  letter,  in  which  he  an- 
nounced his  intended  journey  into  Gloucestershire ;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  proposed  to  enlarge  his  excursion  by 
paying  a  visit  to  Hartlebury,  and  afterwards  attending  the 
Festival  of  the  Three  Choirs,  which  that  year  was  to  be 

*  Mr.  Storer,  the  friend  of  George  Selwyn. 


202  Royal  Visit  to  Cheltenham. 

held  at  Worcester.  His  Majesty  went  on  to  say  that,  as 
feeding  the  hungry  was  a  Christian  duty,  he  should  expect 
his  correspondent,  while  welcoming  the  sovereign  to  his 
cathedral  city,  to  provide  some  cold  meat  for  his  refresh- 
ment. 

The  hearty  old  English  gentleman,  in  fact,  was  minded 
to  enjoy  his  holiday  in  the  homely  way  that  pleased  him 
best.  On  July  12,  the  Court  travelled  from  Windsor  to 
Cheltenham,  where  Bays  Hill  Lodge,  a  seat  of  the  Earl 
of  Fauconberg,  situated  just  outside  the  town,  had  been 
engaged  for  the  royal  party.  The  Lodge  was  so  small 
that  their  Majesties,  with  the  three  eldest  Princesses 
who  accompanied  them,  could  only  be  housed  there  at  a 
considerable  sacrifice  of  state  and  ceremony.  No  bed 
could  be  provided  within  its  walls  for  any  male  person 
but  the  King.  The  female  attendants  on  the  Queen  and 
her  daughters  were  limited  to  one  lady-in-waiting.  Miss 
Burney,  Miss  Planta,  and  the  wardrobe  women. 

'  Is  thh  little  room  for  your  Majesty?'  exclaimed  Fanny, 
in  astonishment. 

'  Stay  till  you  see  your  own,'  retorted  the  Queen,  laugh- 
ing, '  before  you  call  this  little.' 

Colonel  Gwynn,  the  King's  equerry,  and  Colonel  Digby, 
the  Queen's  vice-chamberlain,  slept  in  a  house  at  some 
distance.  The  Queen  consented  to  dine  with  these 
officers,  though  until  then  the  German  etiquette  in  which 
she  was  trained  had  prevented  her  from  sitting  ai  table 
with  men  of  much  higher  rank. 

During  his  stay  at  Cheltenham,  the  King  drank  the 
waters  at  six  o'clock  every  morning,  and  afterwards  took 
exercise  in  the  'Walks.'  This  parade  was  conducted  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  terracing  at  Windsor.  The  King 
led  the  way,  with  the  Queen  leaning  on  his  arm  ;  the 
Princesses  followed  them  ;  and  the  equerry  brought   up 


Robert  Raikes.  203 

the  rear.  The  unaccustomed  spectacle  drew  crowds  from 
the  town  and  the  country  round,  causing  at  first  a  good 
deal  of  inconvenience,  which  the  King  bore  with  his 
usual  good-nature.  In  the  course  of  July,  he  made  ex- 
cursions with  his  family  to  several  places  of  interest  in 
the  neighbourhood  :  to  Oakley  Grove,  the  seat  of  Lord 
Bathurst,  patron  of  Pope  and  Prior,  and  friend  of  Boling- 
broke  and  Atterbury  ;  to  the  Abbey  Church  of  Tewkes- 
bury ;  to  Gloucester  Cathedral ;  to  Croome  Court,  the 
abode  of  Lord  Coventry  and  his  beautiful  Countess. 

Miss  Burney  and  Miss  Planta  were  not  of  the  suite  on 
these  expeditions,  and  altogether  enjoyed  much  more 
liberty  than  fell  to  their  lot  at  Windsor  or  Kew.  Some- 
times they  amused  themselves  by  making  little  excursions 
on  their  own  account.  On  the  day  of  the  royal  visit  to 
Oakley  Grove,  they  went  over  to  Gloucester,  where  Miss 
Planta  had  an  acquaintance  in  the  person  of  the  philan- 
thropic printer,  Robert  Raikes,  still  remembered  as  the 
originator  of  Sunday-schools.  Mr.  Raikes  felt  himself  a 
man  of  importance  ;  he  had  been  invited  to  Windsor, 
and  had  had  the  honour  of  a  long  conversation  with  the 
Queen.  Apparently  the  notice  taken  of  him  had  left 
traces  on  his  manner.  '  He  is  somewhat  too  flourishing,' 
Fanny  whispered  to  her  Diary,  'somewhat  too  forward, 
somewhat  too  voluble  ;  but  he  is  worth}-,  benevolent, 
good-natured,  and  good-hearted,  and  therefore  the  over- 
flowings of  successful  spirits  and  delighted  vanity  must 
meet  with  some  allowance.'  Bating  this  little  self-com- 
placency, the  good  man  proved  himself  a  capital  host  and 
guide,  entertaining  the  royal  attendants  in  a  handsome 
and  painstaking  manner,  which  obtained  their  warm 
acknowledgments. 

But  Miss  Burney  beguiled  her  leisure  principally  in 
improving   her  acquaintance  with    Colonel    Digby,   who 


204  Colonel  Dig  by. 

paid  her  marked  attention  during  their  attendance  at 
the  Gloucestershire  watering-place.  This  courteous,  in- 
sinuating colonel  suited  her  taste  far  better  than  the 
more  soldier-like  equerries  whom  she  met  at  Court.  She 
had  conceived  a  decided  inclination  for  him  from  the 
moment  of  his  first  introduction  to  her.  '  He  is  a  man,' 
she  then  wrote,  '  of  the  most  scrupulous  good-breeding ; 
diffident,  gentle,  and  sentimental  in  his  conversation,  and 
assiduously  attentive  in  his  manners.'  He  had  now  the 
additional  recommendation  that  belongs  to  a  widower 
grieving  over  joys  departed,  yet  not  despairing  of  con- 
solation. In  this  state  of  mind,  he  neglected  no  oppor- 
tunity of  making  himself  agreeable  to  a  lady  whose 
disposition  was  so  congenial  to  his  own.  Even  a  fit  of 
the  gout,  which  detained  him  from  his  official  duties, 
could  not  prevent  him  from  limping  over  to  the  Lodge  to 
sit  with  Miss  Burney.  They  talked  of  many  things,  but 
chiefly  of  books,  of  the  affections,  of  happiness,  and  of 
religion.  The  famous  authoress  astonished  her  admirer 
not  a  little  by  the  discovery  she  was  fain  to  make  of 
the  many  books  she  had  never  yet  read.  Her  candour 
encouraged  him  to  produce  his  own  stores  of  literature, 
which  were  much  more  extensive  than  hers.  This  pensive 
gentleman,  we  need  scarcely  say,  was  addicted  to  reciting 
poetry  and  passages  of  pious  sentiment.  One  line 
especially,  which  was  often  in  his  mouth,  about  '  the 
chastity  of  silent  woe,'  Fanny  found  peculiarly  beautiful, 
though  it  might  have  reminded  her  of  the  Irish  Commis- 
sary whom  she  had  met  at  Brighton.  Very  soon  quota- 
tions were  succeeded  by  readings.  The  pair  studied 
together  Akenside's  poems,  Falconer's  '  Shipwreck,'  Carr's 
Sermons,  and  a  work*  entitled  '  Original  Love-Letters,' 
with  which  we  own  ourselves  unacquainted.  Presently, 
*  By  William  Combe  [1741-1823],  author  of  '  Doctor  Syntax.' 


The  Duke  of  York.  205 

however,  as  the  air  of  Cheltenham  did  not  appear  to  suit 
the  Colonel's  gout,  he  began  to  think  of  taking  leave  of 
absence. 

A  visit  from  the  Duke  of  York  was  expected  while  the 
Court  was  at  Cheltenham.  So  eager  was  the  King  for 
the  society  of  this  his  favourite  son,  that  he  caused  a 
portable  wooden  house  to  be  moved  from  the  further  end 
of  the  town,  and  joined  on  to  Bays  Hill  Lodge,  for  the 
reception  of  the  Prince  and  his  attendants.  The  work 
consumed  much  time  and  money,  but  the  fond  father  was 
bent  on  lodging  his  Frederick  close  to  himself.  All  this 
care  and  affection  met  with  the  too  familiar  return.  The 
Duke  arrived  on  August  i,  according  to  his  appoint- 
ment ;  and  Miss  Burney  describes  the  King's  joy  as  only 
less  extreme  than  the  transport  he  had  shown  when,  a  year 
before,  she  had  seen  the  darling  appear  at  Windsor  after 
long  absence  in  Germany.  But  the  Prince,  so  much 
looked  for,  would  remain  no  more  than  a  single  night. 
Military  business,  he  declared,  required  him  to  be  in 
London  by  the  next  day  but  one,  which  was  Sunday ; 
however,  he  would  travel  all  Saturday  night  that  he  might 
be  able  to  spend  a  second  evening  with  his  parents.  '  I 
wonder,'  cried  Colonel  Digby,  with  the  sententious  pro- 
priety which  charmed  our  Fanny,  *  how  these  Princes, 
who  are  thus  forced  to  steal  even  their  travelling  from 
their  sleep,  find  time  to  say  their  prayers  !' 

On  August  5  the  Court  visited  Worcester  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attending  the  Musical  Festival.  When  the  royal 
cortege  stopped  at  the  Bishop's  palace,  "  the  King  had  an 
huzza,  that  seemed  to  vibrate  through  the  whole  town, 
the  Princess  Royal's  carriage  had  a  second,  and  the 
equerries  a  third.  The  mob  then,"  proceeds  the  Diary, 
*'  as  ours  drew  on  in  succession,  seemed  to  deliberate 
whether  or  not  we  also  should  have  a  cheer :  but  one  of 


2o6  Mttsical  Festival  at  Worcester. 

them  soon  decided  the  matter  by  calhng  out,  '  These  are 
the  maids  of  honour  !'  and  immediately  gave  us  an  huzza 
that  made  us  quite  ashamed.'"  The  opening  performance 
of  the  Festival  next  morning  did  not  much  gratify  the 
historian.  '  It  was  very  long  and  intolerably  tedious,, 
consisting  of  Handel's  gravest  pieces  and  fullest  choruses, 
and  concluding  with  a  sermon,  concerning  the  institution 
of  the  charity,  preached  by  Dr.  Langhorne.'*  A  second 
morning  performance  to  which  she  went  did  not  strike 
her  more  favourably.  One  of  the  evening  concerts  she 
liked  better.  Of  another  she  observes  that  it  '  was  very 
Handelian,  though  not  exclusively  so.' 

At  the  close  of  the  Festival  the  royal  party  and  their 
suite  returned  to  Cheltenham.  On  the  same  evening 
Colonel  Digby  took  his  departure,  'leaving  me,'  says 
Fanny,  '  firmly  impressed  with  a  belief  that  I  shall  find 
in  him  a  true,  an  honourable,  and  even  an  affectionate 
friend  for  life.'  Next  day  an  express  came  from  him  with 
a  letter  for  Miss  Burney,  begging  her  to  inform  the  Queen 
that  the  Mastership  of  St.  Katharine's  Hospital,  which 
was  in  her  Majesty's  gift,  had  just  become  void  by  the 
death  of  the  occupant.  In  a  few  more  days  it  was  an- 
nounced that  the  vacant  appointment  had  been  conferred 
on  Mr.  Digby. 

By  August  i6,  the  Court  was  again  established  at 
Windsor,  and  a  rumour  began  to  circulate  of  the  Colonel's 
gallantry  at  Cheltenham,  mingled  with  a  second  rumour 
of  his  being  then  confined  by  gout  at  a  house  where  lived 
Miss  Gunning,  for  whom  he  had  been  supposed  to  have 
an  admiration.  Both  reports  were  disregarded  by  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg's  assistant,  who  could  think  of  nothing  but 
the  change  from  the  pleasant  society  which  she  had  lately 
enjoyed  to  the  arrogance,  the  contentiousness,  the  pre- 
*  The  writer  and  translator,  1735-1799. 


M.  de  Lalande.  207 

suming  ig-norance,  that  assailed  her  in  the  hated  dining- 
room  at  the  Queen's  Lodge.  '  What  scales,'  she  wrote, 
'  could  have  held  and  weighed  the  heart  of  F.  B.  as  she 
drove  past  the  door  of  her  revered  lost  comforter,  to  enter 
the  apartment  inhabited  by  such  qualities  !' 

One  strange  visitor,  however,  she  had  at  starting, 
who  provided  her  with  some  little  amusement : 

"  August  i8th. — Well,  now  I  have  a  new  personage  to 
introduce  to  you,  and  no  small  one ;  ask  else  the  stars, 
moon  and  planets  !  While  I  was  surrounded  with  band- 
boxes, and  unpacking,  Dr.  Shepherd*  was  announced. 
Eager  to  make  his  compliments  on  the  safe  return,  he 
forced  a  passage  through  the  back  avenues  and  stairs,  for 
he  told  me  he  did  not  like  being  seen  coming  to  me  at  the 
front  door,  as  it  might  create  some  jealousies  amongst  the 
other  Canons  !  A  very  commendable  circumspection  !  but 
whether  for  my  sake  or  his  own  he  did  not  particularize. 

"  M.  de  Lalande,  he  said,  the  famous  astronomer,  was 
just  arrived  in  England,  and  now  at  Windsor,  and  he  had 
expressed  a  desire  to  be  introduced  to  me 

"  His  business  was  to  settle  bringing  M.  de  Lalande  to 
see  me  in  the  evening.  I  told  him  I  was  much  honoured, 
and  so  forth,  but  that  I  received  no  evening  company,  as 
I  was  officially  engaged.  He  had  made  the  appointment, 
he  said,  and  could  not  break  it,  without  affronting  him  ; 
besides,  he  gave  me  to  understand  it  would  be  an  honour  to 
me  for  ever  to  be  visited  by  so  great  an  astronomer.  .  .  . 

"  In  the  midst  of  tea,  with  a  room  full  of  people,  I  was 
called  out  to  Dr.  Shepherd  !....!  hurried  into  the  next 
room,  where  I  found  him  with  his  friend,  M.  de  Lalande. 
What  a  reception  awaited  me  !  how  unexpected  a  one 
from  a  famed  and   great   astronomer !      M,  de  Lalande 

*  One  of  the  Canons  of  Windsor. 


2o8  My  Excellent  French. 

advanced  to  meet  me — I  will  not  be  quite  positive  it  was 
on  tiptoe,  but  certainl}'  with  a  mixture  of  jerk  and  strut 
that  could  not  be  quite  flat-footed.  He  kissed  his  hand 
with  the  air  of  a  petit  uiaitre,  and  then  broke  forth  into 
such  an  harangue  of  Eloges,  so  solemn  with  regard  to  its 
own  weight  and  importance,  and  so  fade  with  respect  to 
the  little  personage  addressed,  that  I  could  not  help 
thinking  it  lucky  for  the  planets,  stars,  and  sun,  they 
were  not  bound  to  hear  his  comments,  though  obliged 
to  undergo  his  calculations. 

''  On  my  part  sundry  profound  reverences  with  now  and 
then  an  *  Oh,  monsieur  /'  or  '  c'est  trop  d'honneur,'  acquitted 
me  so  well,  that  the  first  harangue  being  finished,  on  the 
score  of  general  and  grand  reputation,  Eloge  the  second 
began,  on  the  excellence  with  which  '  cette  celebre  demoiselle  ' 
spoke  French  ! 

"  This  may  surprise  you,  my  dear  friends  ;  but  you  must 
consider  M.  de  Lalande  is  a  great  discoverer. 

"  Well,  but  had  you  seen  Dr.  Shepherd  !  he  looked  lost 
in  sleek  delight  and  wonder,  that  a  person  to  whom  he 
had  introduced  M.  de  Lalande  should  be  an  object  for 
such  fine  speeches. 

"  This  gentleman's  figure,  meanwhile,  corresponds  no 
better  with  his  discourse  than  his  scientific  profession,  for 
he  is  an  ugly  little  wrinkled  old  man,  with  a  fine  showy 
waistcoat,  rich  lace  ruffles,  and  the  grimaces  of  a  dentist. 
I  believe  he  chose  to  display  that  a  Frenchman  of  science 
could  be  also  a  man  of  gallantry. 

"  I  was  seated  between  them,  but  the  good  doctor  made 
no  greater  interruption  to  the  florid  professor  than  I  did 
myself:  he  only  grinned  applause,  with  placid,  but  in- 
effable satisfaction. 

"  Nothing  therefore  intervening, E I ogc  the  third  followed, 
after  a  pause  no  longer  than  might  be  necessary  for  due 


M.  dc  Lalandes    Volubility.  209 

admiration  of  Eloge  the  second.  This  had  for  sujct  the 
fair  female  sex ;  how  the  ladies  were  now  all  improved  ; 
how  they  could  write,  and  read,  and  spell ;  how  a  man 
nowadays  mi^ht  talk  with  them  and  be  understood,  and 
how  delightful  it  was  to  see  such  pretty  creatures  turned 
rational  ! 

"  And  all  this,  of  course,  interspersed  with  particular  ob- 
servations and  most  pointed  applications ;  nor  was  there 
in  the  whole  string  of  compliments  which  made  up  the 
three  bouquets,  one  single  one  amongst  them  that  might 
have  disgraced  any  petit  maitre  to  utter,  or  any  petite 
maitrcssc  to  hear. 

"  The  third  being  ended,  a  rather  longer  pause  ensued. 
I  believe  he  was  dry,  but  I  offered  him  no  tea.  I  would 
not  voluntarily  be  accessory  to  detaining  such  great 
personages  from  higher  avocations.  I  wished  him  next 
to  go  and  study  the  stars ;  from  the  moon  he  seemed  so 
lately  arrived  there  was  little  occasion  for  another  journe}-. 

"  I  flatter  myself  he  was  of  the  same  opinion,  for  the 
fourth  Eloge  was  all  upon  his  unhappiness  in  tearing  him- 
self away  from  so  much  merit,  and  ended  in  as  many 
bows  as  had  accompanied  his  entrance. 

"  I  suppose,  in  going,  he  said,  with  a  shrug,  to  the 
Canon,  'i\/.  le  Docteur,  c'est  Men  genant,  mais  il  fattt  dire  des 
jolies  choses  aux  dames  !' 

"  He  was  going  the  next  day  to  see  Dr.  Maskelyne's* 
Observator}'.     Well  !   I  have  had  him  first  in  mine  !" 

The  King,  at  his  return  to  Windsor,  appeared  to  be  re- 
stored to  his  usual  health.  In  less  than  two  months,  how- 
ever, he  was  again  out  of  order.  We  give  the  most 
noteworthy  passage  in  Miss  Burney's  account  of  his 
subsequent  illness  as  it  fell  under  her  observation.     She 

*  Dr.  Maskelyne  (1732-1811)  was  Astronomer  Royal  at  the  time. 

14 


2IO  Illness  of  the  King. 

was  doing  double  duty  at  this  time,  in  the  absence  of 
Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  who  had  gone  to  Weymouth  for  her 
health.  The  Court  was  at  Kew  when  the  first  appre- 
hensions arose  : 

"■  October  17TH. —  Our  return  to  Windsor  is  postponed 
till  to-morrow.  The  King  is  not  well ;  he  has  not  been 
quite  well  some  time,  yet  nothing  I  hope  alarming, 
though  there  is  an  uncertainty  as  to  his  complaint  not 
very  satisfactory. 

"  19TH. — The  Windsor  journey  is  again  postponed,  and 
the  King  is  but  very  indifferent.  Heaven  preserve  him  ! 
there  is  something  unspeakably  alarming  in  his  smallest 
indisposition.  I  am  very  much  with  the  Queen,  who,  I 
see,  is  very  uneasy,  but  she  talks  not  of  it. 

"  20TH. — The  King  was  taken  very  ill  in  the  night,  and 
we  have  all  been  cruelly  frightened ;  but  it  went  off,  and, 
thank  Heaven  !  he  is  now  better. 

"  25TH. — The  King  was  so  much  better,  that  our 
"Windsor  journey  at  length  took  place,  with  permission  of 
Sir  George  Baker,*  the  only  physician  his  Majesty  will 
admit. 

"  I  had  a  sort  of  conference  with  his  Majesty,  or  rather 
I  was  the  object  to  whom  he  spoke,  with  a  manner  so  un- 
common, that  a  high  fever  alone  could  account  for  it ;  a 
rapidity,  a  hoarseness  of  voice,  a  volubility,  an  earnest- 
ness— a  vehemence,  rather — it  startled  me  inexpressibly, 
3'et  with  a  graciousness  exceeding  all  I  ever  met  with 
before — it  was  almost  kindness  !  Heaven — Heaven  pre- 
serve him  !  The  Queen  grows  more  and  more  uneasy. 
She  alarms  me  sometimes  for  herself;  at  other  times  she 
has  a  sedateness  that  wonders  me  still  more. 

"Sunday,  Oct.  26th. — The  King  was  prevailed  upon 

*  Physician  in  Ordinary  to  the  King  :  born  1722  ;  died  1S09. 


The  Kmp'  e'rozus  worse.  2 1 1 


•<3 


not  to  go  to  chapel  this  morning.  I  met  him  in  the 
passage  from  the  Queen's  room ;  he  stopped  me,  and 
conversed  upon  his  health  near  half  an  hour,  still  with 
that  extreme  quickness  of  speech  and  manner  that  belongs 
to  fever ;  and  he  hardly  sleeps,  he  tells  me,  one  minute  all 
night  ;  indeed,  if  he  recovers  not  his  rest,  a  most  delirious 
fever  seems  to  threaten  him.  He  is  all  agitation,  all 
emotion,  yet  all  benevolence  and  goodness,  even  to  a 
degree  that  makes  it  touching  to  hear  him  speak.  He 
assures  everybody  of  his  health ;  he  seems  only  fearful  to 
give  uneasiness  to  others,  yet  certainly  he  is  better  than 
last  night.  Nobody  speaks  of  his  illness,  nor  what  they 
think  of  it. 

"November  ist. — Our  King  does  not  advance  in  amend- 
ment ;  he  grows  so  weak  that  he  walks  like  a  gouty  man, 
yet  has  such  spirits  that  he  has  talked  away  his  voice, 
and  is  so  hoarse  it  is  painful  to  hear  him.  The  Queen 
is  evidently  in  great  uneasiness.  God  send  him 
better  !  .  .  . 

"  During  the  reading  this  morning,  twice,  at  pathetic 
passages,  my  poor  Queen  shed  tears.  '  How  nervous  I 
am!'  she  cried;  'I  am  quite  a  fool!  Don't  you  think 
so  ?' 

"  '  No,  ma'am  !'  was  all  I  dared  answer. 

"  The  King  was  hunting.  Her  anxiety  for  his  return 
was  greater  than  ever.  The  moment  he  arrived  he  sent 
a  page  to  desire  to  have  coffee  and  take  his  bark  in  the 
Queen's  dressing-room.  She  said  she  would  pour  it  out 
herself,  and  sent  to  inquire  how  he  drank  it. 

"  The  King  is  very  sensible  of  the  great  change  there  is 
in  himself,  and  of  her  disturbance  at  it.  It  seems,  but 
Heaven  avert  it !  a  threat  of  a  total  breaking  up  of  the 
constitution.  This,  too,  seems  his  own  idea.  I  was 
present  at  his  first  seeing  Lady  Effingham  on  his  return 

14—2 


212  '  The  Queen  is  my  Physician! 

to  Windsor  this  last  time.  *  My  dear  Effy,"  he  cried, 
'  you  see  me,  all  at  once,  an  old  man.' 

"  I  was  so  much  affected  by  this  exclamation,  that  I 
wished  to  run  out  of  the  room.  Yet  I  could  not  but 
recover  when  Lad}-  Effingham,  in  her  well-meaning  but 
literal  way,  composed!}'  answered,  '  We  must  all  grow 
old,  sir  :   I  am  sure  I  do.' 

"  He  then  produced  a  walking-stick  which  he  had  just 
ordered.  'He  could  not,'  he  said,  'get  on  without  it; 
his  strength  seemed  diminishing  hourly.' 

'*  He  took  the  bark,  he  said  ;  '  but  the  Queen'  he  cried, 
'  is  my  physician,  and  no  man  need  have  a  better ;  she  is 
my  Friend,  and  no  man  caw  have  a  better.* 

"  How  the  Queen  commanded  herself  I  cannot  con- 
ceive. .  .  .  Nor  can  I  ever  forget  him  in  what  passed  this 
night.  When  I  came  to  the  Queen's  dressing-room  he 
was  still  with  her.  He  constantly  conducts  her  to  it 
before  he  retires  to  his  own.  He  was  begging  her  not  to 
speak  to  him  when  he  got  to  his  room,  that  he  might  fall 
asleep,  as  he  felt  great  want  of  that  refreshment.  He  re- 
peated this  desire,  I  believe,  at  least  a  hundred  times, 
though,  far  enough  from  needing  it,  the  poor  Queen  never 
uttered  one  syllable  ;  He  then  applied  to  me,  saying  he 
was  really  very  well,  except  in  that  one  particular,  that 
he  could  not  sleep.  .  .  . 

"  3RD. — We  are  all  here  in  a  most  uneasy  state.  The 
King  is  better  and  worse  so  frequently,  and  changes  so, 
daily,  backwards  and  forwards,  that  everything  is  to  be 
apprehended,  if  his  nerves  are  not  some  way  quieted.  I 
dreadfully  fear  he  is  on  the  eve  of  some  severe  fever. 
The  Queen  is  almost  overpowered  with  some  secret 
terror.  I  am  affected  beyond  all  expression  in  her 
presence,  to  see  what  struggles  she  makes  to  support 
serenity.     To-day  she  gave  up  the  conflict  when  I  was 


Grief  of  the  Queen.  2 1 3 

alone  with  her,  and  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  tears.  It 
was  very,  very  terrible  to  see  !   .  .  . 

"  5TH. — I  found  my  poor  Royal  Mistress,  in  the  morn- 
ing, sad  and  sadder  still  ;  something  horrible  seemed  im- 
pending. .  .  . 

"  I  was  still  wholly  unsuspicious  of  the  greatness  of  the 
cause  she  had  for  dread.  Illness,  a  breaking  up  of  the 
constitution,  the  payment  of  sudden  infirmity  and  prema- 
ture old  age  for  the  waste  of  unguarded  health  and  strength 
— these  seemed  to  me  the  threats  awaiting  her  ;  and  great 
and  grievous  enough,  yet  how  short  of  the  fact !   .  .  . 

"  At  noon  the  King  went  out  in  his  chaise,  with  the 
Princess  Royal,  for  an  airing.  I  looked  from  my  window 
to  see  him ;  he  was  all  smiling  benignity,  but  gave  so 
many  orders  to  the  postilions,  and  got  in  and  out  of  the 
carriage  twice,  with  such  agitation,  that  again  my  fear  of 
a  great  fever  hanging  over  him  grew  more  and  more 
powerful.  Alas  !  how  little  did  I  imagine  I  should  see 
him  no  more  for  so  long — so  black  a  period  ! 

''  When  I  went  to  my  poor  Queen,  still  worse  and  worse 
I  found  her  spirits.  .  .  . 

"  The  Princess  Royal  soon  returned.  She  came  in 
cheerfully,  and  gave,  in  German,  a  history'  of  the  airing, 
and  one  that  seemed  comforting. 

"  Soon  after,  suddenly  arrived  the  Prince  of  Wales.  He 
came  into  the  room.  He  had  just  quitted  Brighthelm- 
stone.  Something  passing  within  seemed  to  render  this 
meeting  awfully  distant  on  both  sides.  She  asked  if  he 
should  not  return  to  Brighthelmstone  ?  He  answered 
yes,  the  next  day.  He  desired  to  speak  with  her  ;  they 
retired  together.  .  .  . 

"  Only  Miss  Planta  dined  with  me.  We  were  both 
nearly  silent:  I  was  shocked  at  I  scarcely  knew  what, 
and    she    seemed   to    know    too    much    for    speech.     She 


2  14  Paroxysm  at  Dinner. 

stayed  with  me  till  six  o'clock,  but  nothing  passed, 
beyond  general  solicitude  that  the  King  might  get  better. 

"  Meanwhile,  a  stillness  the  most  uncommon  reigned 
over  the  whole  house.  Nobody  stirred  ;  not  a  voice  was 
heard ;  not  a  motion.  I  could  do  nothing  but  watch, 
without  knowing  for  what :  there  seemed  a  strangeness  in 
the  house  most  extraordinary. 

"  At  seven  o'clock  Columb  came  to  tell  me  that  the 
music  was  all  forbid,  and  the  musicians  ordered  away  ! 

"This  was  the  last  step  to  be  expected,  so  fond  as  his 
Majesty  is  of  his  concert,  and  I  thought  it  might  have 
rather  soothed  him  :  I  could  not  understand  the  prohibi- 
tion ;  all  seemed  stranger  and  stranger." 

One  after  another,  the  usual  evening  visitors  made 
their  appearance.  First  the  equerries,  and  then  Colonel 
Digby,  who  had  reached  the  palace  that  afternoon,  came 
in  to  tea.  "  Various  small  speeches  now  dropped,  by 
which  I  found  the  house  was  all  in  disturbance,  and  the 
King  in  some  strange  wa}'  worse,  and  the  Queen  taken 
ill  !"  Presently  the  whole  truth  was  divulged.  *'  The 
King,  at  dinner,  had  broken  forth  into  positive  delirium, 
which  long  had  been  menacing  all  who  saw  him  most 
closelv ;  and  the  Queen  was  so  overpowered  as  to  fall 
into  violent  hysterics.  All  the  Princesses  were  in  miser}-, 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  burst  into  tears.  No  one 
knew  what  was  to  follow — no  one  could  conjecture  the 
event." 

At  ten  o'clock.  Miss  Burne>-  went  to  her  own  room  to 
be  in  readiness  for  her  usual  summons  to  tne  Queen  : 

"  Two  long  hours  I  waited — alone,  in  silence,  in  ignor- 
ance, in  dread  !  I  tlKJught  they  would  never  be  over  ;  at 
twelve  o'clock  I  seemed  to  have  spent  two  whole  days  in 
waiting.     I  then  opened  my  door,  to  listen,  in  the  passage. 


The  Queen.  215 

if  anything  seemed  stirring.  Not  a  sound  could  I  hear. 
My  apartment  seemed  wholly  separated  from  life  and 
motion.  Whoever  was  in  the  house  kept  at  the  other 
end,  and  not  even  a  servant  crossed  the  stairs  or  passage 
by  my  rooms. 

"  I  would  fain  have  crept  on  myself,  anywhere  in  the 
world,  for  some  inquiry,  or  to  see  but  a  face,  and  hear  a 
voice,  but  I  did  not  dare  risk  losing  a  sudden  summons. 

"  I  re-entered  my  room,  and  there  passed  another  end- 
less hour,  in  conjectures  too  horrible  to  relate. 

"  A  little  after  one,  I  heard  a  step — my  door  opened  — 
and  a  page  said  I  must  come  to  the  Queen. 

"  I  could  hardly  get  along — hardly  force  myself  into  the 
room  ;  dizzy  I  felt,  almost  to  falling.  But  the  first  shock 
passed,  I  became  more  collected.  Useful,  indeed,  proved 
the  previous  lesson  of  the  evening :  it  had  stilled,  if  not 
mortiiied  my  mind,  which  had  else,  in  a  scene  such  as 
this,  been  all  tumult  and  emotion. 

"  My  poor  Royal  Mistress !  never  can  I  forget  her 
countenance — pale,  ghastly  pale  she  looked :  she  was 
seated  to  be  undressed,  and  attended  by  Lady  Elizabeth 
Waldegrave  and  Miss  Goldsworthy  ;  her  whole  frame  was 
disordered,  yet  she  was  still  and  quiet. 

"  These  two  ladies  assisted  me  to  undress  her,  or  rather 
I  assisted  them,  for  they  were  firmer,  from  being  longer 
present ;  my  shaking  hands  and  blinded  eyes  could  scarce 
be  of  any  use. 

"  I  gave  her  some  camphor  julep,  which  had  been 
ordered  her  by  Sir  George  Baker.  '  How  cold  I  am  !' 
she  cried,  and  put  her  hand  on  mine ;  marble  it  felt  !  and 
went  to  my  heart's  core  ! 

"  The  King,  at  the  instance  of  Sir  George  Baker,  had 
consented  to  sleep  in  the  next  apartment,  as  the  Queen 
was  ill.      For  himself,  he  would  listen  to  nothing.     Ac- 


2i6  Illness  of  the  Queen. 

cordingly,  a  bed  was  put  up  for  him,  by  his  own  order,  in 
the  Queen's  second  dressing-room,  immediately  adjoining 
to  the  bedroom.  He  would  not  be  further  removed.  Miss 
Goldsworthy  was  to  sit  up  with  her,  by  the  King's 
direction. 

"  I  would  fain  have  remained  in  the  little  dressing-room, 
on  the  other  side  the  bedroom,  but  she  would  not  permit 
it  ....  I  went  to  bed,  determined  to  preserve  my 
strength  to  the  utmost  of  my  ability,  for  the  service  of 
my  unhappy  mistress.  I  could  not,  however,  sleep.  I  do 
not  suppose  an  eye  was  closed  in  the  house  all  night. 

"6th, — I  rose  at  six,  dressed  in  haste  by  candle-light, 
and  unable  to  wait  for  my  summons  in  a  suspense  so 
awful,  I  stole  along  the  passage  in  the  dark,  a  thick  fog 
intercepting  all  faint  light,  to  see  if  I  could  meet  with 
Sandys,*  or  anyone,  to  tell  me  how  the  night  had  passed. 

"  When  I  came  to  the  little  dressing-room,  I  stopped, 
irresolute  what  to  do.  I  heard  men's  voices ;  I  was 
seized  with  the  most  cruel  alarm  at  such  a  sound  in  her 
Majesty's  dressing-room.  I  waited  some  time,  and  then 
the  door  opened,  and  I  saw  Colonel  Goldsworthy  and  Mr. 
Batterscomb.  I  was  relieved  from  my  first  apprehension, 
yet  shocked  enough  to  see  them  there  at  this  early  hour. 
They  had  both  sat  up  there  all  night,  as  well  as  Sandys. 
Every  page,  both  of  the  King  and  Queen,  had  also  sat  up, 
dispersed  in  the  passages  and  ante-rooms  ;  and  oh,  what 
horror  in  every  face  I  met  ! 

*'  I  waited  here,  amongst  them,  till  Sandys  was  ordered 
by  the  Queen  to  carry  her  a  pair  of  gloves.  I  could  not 
resist  the  opportunity  to  venture  myself  before  her.  I 
glided  into  the  room,  but  stopped  at  the  door :  she  was 
in  bed,  sitting  up  ;  Miss  Goldsworthy  was  on  a  stool  by 
her  side ! 

*  Ward rol}c- woman  to  the  Oiiccn. 


The  Queen  and  Miss  Btwney.  2 1  7 

"  I  feared  approaching  without  permission,  yet  could 
not  prevail  with  myself  to  retreat.  She  was  looking 
down,  and  did  not  see  me.  Miss  Goldsworthy,  turning 
round,  said,  '  'Tis  Miss  Burney,  ma'am.' 

"  She  leaned  her  head  forward,  and  in  a  most  soft 
manner,  said,  '  Miss  Burney,  how  are  you  ?' 

"  Deeply  affected,  I  hastened  up  to  her;  but,  in  trying 
to  speak,  burst  into  an  irresistible  torrent  of  tears. 

"  My  dearest  friends,  I  do  it  at  this  moment  again,  and 
can  hardly  write  for  them  ;  yet  I  wish  you  to  know  all 
this  piercing  history  right. 

"  She  looked  like  death — colourless  and  wan;  but  nature 
is  infectious ;  the  tears  gushed  from  her  own  eyes,  and  a 
perfect  agony  of  weeping  ensued,  which,  once  begun,  she 
could  not  stop  ;  she  did  not,  indeed,  try  ;  for  when  it 
subsided,  and  she  wiped  her  eyes,  she  said,  ''  I  thank  you. 
Miss  Burney — you  have  made  me  cry;  it  is  a  great  relief  to 
me — I  had  not  been  able  to  cry  before,  all  this  night  long.' 

"  Oh,  what  a  scene  followed  !  what  a  scene  was  related  ! 
The  King,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  had  insisted  upon 
seeing  if  his  Queen  was  not  removed  from  the  house ; 
and  he  had  come  into  her  room,  with  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  opened  the  bed-curtains,  and  satisfied  himself  she 
was  there,  and  Miss  Goldsworthy  by  her  side.  This 
observance  of  his  directions  had  much  soothed  him  ;  but 
he  stayed  a  full  half-hour,  and  the  depth  of  terror  during 
that  time  no  words  can  paint.  The  fear  of  such  another 
entrance  was  now  so  strongly  upon  the  nerves  of  the  poor 
Queen  that  she  could  hardly  support  herself. 

"  The  King — the  royal  sufferer — was  still  in  the  next 
room,  attended  by  Sir  George  Baker  and  Dr.  Heberden,* 

'■'  William  Heberden.  Born  in  1710;  Fellow  of  St.  John's  Colletje,  Cam- 
bridge ;  practised  medicine  at  Cambridge  ;  removed  to  London  m  1748  ;  wrote 
'  Medical  Commentaries  ;'  passed  the  later  years  of  his  life  at  Windsor,  where 
he  died  in  1801. 


2i8  The  Physicians. 

and  his  pages,  with  Colonel  Goldsworthy  occasionally, 
and  as  he  called  for  him.  He  kept  talking  unceasingly ; 
his  voice  was  so  lost  in  hoarseness  and  weakness,  it  was 
rendered  almost  inarticulate  :  but  its  tone  was  still  all 
benevolence — all  kindness — all  touching  graciousness. 

"  It  was  thought  advisable  the  Queen  should  not  rise, 
lest  the  King  should  be  offended  that  she  did  not  go  to 
him  ;  at  present  he  was  content,  because  he  conceived 
her  to  be  nursing  for  her  illness. 

"  But  what  a  situation  for  her  !  She  would  not  let  me 
leave  her  now ;  she  .  .  .  frequently  bid  me  listen,  to  hear 
what  the  King  was  saying  or  doing.  I  did,  and  carried 
the  best  accounts  I  could  manage,  without  deviating  from 
truth,  except  by  some  omissions.  Nothing  could  be  so 
afflicting  as  this  task  ;  even  now,  it  brings  fresh  to  my 
ear  his  poor  exhausted  voice.  '  I  am  nervous,'  he  cried  ; 
'  I  am  not  ill,  but  I  am  nervous  :  if  you  would  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  me,  I  am  nervous.  But  I  love  you 
both  very  well ;  if  you  would  tell  me  truth  :  I  love  Dr. 
Heberden  best,  for  he  has  not  told  me  a  lie :  Sir  George 
has  told  me  a  lie — a  white  lie,  he  says,  but  I  hate  a  white 
lie  !     If  you  will  tell  me  a  lie,  let  it  be  a  black  lie  !' 

"  This  was  what  he  kept  saying  almost  constantly,  mixed 
in  with  other  matter,  but  always  returning,  and  in  a  voice 
that  truly  will  never  cease  vibrating  in  my  recollection." 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  a  third  physician — Dr. 
Warren* — arrived.  His  opinion  was  eagerly  awaited  by 
the  Queen  ;  but  he  did  not  come  to  her,  though  repeatedly 
summoned.  At  length.  Lady  Elizabeth  brought  news 
that  he  and  the  other  two  physicians  were  gone  over  to 
the  Castle  to  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

*  Richard  Warren.  Born  about  1732  ;  Fellow  of  the  Royal  ani!  Antiquarian 
Societies  ;  I'liysician  in  Ordinary  to  George  III.  ami  the  Prince  of  Wales  ; 
died  in  1797. 


The  Royal  Pair  Sepat'ated.  219 

"  I  think  a  deeper  blow  I  had  never  witnessed.  Already 
to  become  but  second,  even  for  the  King  !  The  tears 
were  now  wiped  :  indignation  arose,  with  pain,  the  severest 
pain,  of  every  species. 

"  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Colonel  Goldsworthy 
sent  in  to  beg  an  audience.  It  was  granted,  a  long  cloak 
only  being  thrown  over  the  Queen. 

"  He  now  brought  the  opinion  of  all  the  physicians  in 
consultation,  '  That  her  Majesty  would  remove  to  a  more 
distant  apartment,  since  the  King  would  undoubtedly  be 
worse  from  the  agitation  of  seeing  her,  and  there  could 
be  no  possibilit}'  to  prevent  it  while  she  remained  so 
near.' 

"  She  instantly  agreed,  but  with  what  bitter  anguish  ! 
Lady  Elizabeth,  Miss  Goldsworthy,  and  myself  attended 
her  ;  she  went  to  an  apartment  in  the  same  row,  but  to 
which  there  was  no  entrance  except  by  its  own  door.  It 
consisted  of  only  two  rooms,  a  bedchamber,  and  a  dress- 
ing-room. They  are  appropriated  to  the  lady-in-waiting 
when  she  is  here. 

"  At  the  entrance  into  this  new  habitation  the  poor 
wretched  Queen  once  more  gave  way  to  a  perfect  agony 
of  grief  and  affliction  ;  while  the  words,  '  What  will 
become  of  me  !  What  will  become  of  me  !'  uttered 
with  the  most  piercing  lamentation,  struck  deep  and  hard 
into  all  our  hearts.  Never  can  I  forget  their  desponding 
sound  ;  they  implied  such  complicated  apprehension." 

Of  the  scene  in  the  King's  rooms  that  night,  Miss 
Burney  had  only  a  momentary  glimpse.  Being  sent  on 
some  commission  for  the  Queen,  "  When  I  gently  opened," 
she  writes,  "  the  door  of  the  apartment  to  which  I  was 
directed,  I  found  it  quite  filled  with  gentlemen  and 
attendants,  arranged  round  it  on  chairs  and  sofas,  in  dead 


2  20  The  Prince  of  Wales. 

silence.  It  was  a  dreadful  start  with  which  I  retreated  ; 
for  anything  more  alarming  and  shocking  could  not  be 
conceived — the  poor  King  within  another  door,  uncon- 
scious anyone  was  near  him,  and  thus  watched,  by  dread 
necessity,  at  such  an  hour  of  the  night !"  How  the  hours 
passed  she  heard  the  next  day. 

"  7TH. — While  I  was  yet  with  my  poor  royal  sufferer 
this  morning  the  Prince  of  Wales  came  hastily  into  the 
room.  He  apologized  for  his  intrusion,  and  then  gave  a 
very  energetic  history  of  the  preceding  night.  It  had 
been  indeed  most  affectingly  dreadful  !  The  King  had 
risen  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  would  take  no  denial 
to  walking  into  the  next  room.  There  he  saw  the  large 
congress  I  have  mentioned  :  amazed  and  in  consterna- 
tion, he  demanded  what  they  did  there  ?  Much  followed 
that  I  have  heard  since,  particularly  the  warmest  eloge 
on  his  dear  son  Frederick,  his  favourite,  his  friend. 
*  Yes,'  he  cried,  '  Frederick  is  my  friend  !' — and  this  son 
was  then  present  amongst  the  rest,  but  not  seen ! 

"  Sir  George  Baker  was  there,  and  was  privately  ex- 
horted by  the  gentlemen  to  lead  the  King  back  to  his 
room  ;  but  he  had  not  courage :  he  attempted  only  to 
speak,  and  the  King  penned  him  in  a  corner,  told  him  he 
was  a  mere  old  woman — that  he  wondered  he  had  ever 
followed  his  advice,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  his  complaint, 
which  was  only  nervous  ! 

"  The  Prince  of  Wales,  by  signs  and  whispers,  would 
have  urged  others  to  have  drawn  him  away,  but  no  one 
dared  approach  him,  and  he  remained  there  a  consider- 
able time,  '  Nor  do  I  know  when  he  would  have  been 
got  back,'  continued  the  Prince,  '  if  at  last  Mr.  Digby* 
had  not  undertaken  him.     I  am  extremely  obliged  to  Mr. 

*  We  have  substituted  the  real  name  here  for  tlie  '  Mr.  Fairly  '  of  the  printed 
Diary. 


Takes  the  Government  of  the  Palace.       2  2  j 

Digby  indeed.  He  came  boldly  up  to  him,  and  took  him 
b}^  the  arm,  and  begged  him  to  go  to  bed,  and  then  drew 
him  along,  and  said  he  must  go.  Then  he  said  he  would 
not,  and  cried,  '  Who  are  you  ?"  '  I  am  Mr.  Digby,  sir,' 
he  answered,  '  and  your  Majesty  has  been  very  good  to 
me  often,  and  now  I  am  going  to  be  very  good  to  you,  for 
you  must  come  to  bed,  sir  :  it  is  necessary  to  your  life. 
And  then  he  was  so  surprised  that  he  let  himself  be 
drawn  along  just  like  a  child  ;  and  so  they  got  him  to 
bed.     I  believe  else  he  would  have  stayed  all  night  !'  " 

On  the  following  morning,  an  incident  occurred  which 
showed  the  revolution  that  had  taken  place  in  the  palace. 
Mr.  Smelt  had  travelled  post  from  York  on  hearing  of  the 
King's  illness,  but  had  not  3'et  been  able  to  see  either  him 
or  the  Queen.  Accidentally  meeting  with  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  he  was  received  by  his  old  pupil  with  much 
apparent  kindness  of  manner,  and  invited  to  remain  at 
Windsor  till  he  could  be  admitted  to  the  Queen's 
presence.  Not  small,  then,  was  his  surprise  when,  on 
returning  shortly  afterwards  to  the  Upper  Lodge,  the 
porter  handed  him  his  great-coat,  saying  that  he  had 
express  orders  from  the  Prince  to  refuse  him  re-admis- 
sion.* '  From  this  time,'  continues  Miss  Burney,  '  as 
the  poor  King  grew  worse,  general  hope  seemed  universall}- 
to  abate ;  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  now  took  the  govern- 
ment of  the  house  into  his  own  hands.  Nothing  was 
done  but  by  his  orders,  and  he  was  applied  to  in  every 
difficulty.  The  Queen  interfered  not  in  anything  ;  she 
lived    entirely   in    her   two    new    rooms,    and    spent   the 

*  It  is  fair  to  mention  that  the  Prince  afterwards  apologized  to  his  old  sub- 
governor  on  meeting  him  at  Kew. — Diary,  iii.  117.  Even  Walpole,  chary  as 
he  usually  is  of  praise,  has  done  justice  to  the  "singular  virtues  and  character," 
the  "  ignorance  of  the  world  as  well  as  its  depravity,"  of  this  estimable  person. 
"  Happy  for  the  Prince,"  adds  Walpole,  "  had  he  had  no  other  governor  ;  at 
least  no  other  director  of  his  morals  and  opinions  of  government."— See 
Walpole's  '  Reign  of  George  III.,'  vol.  iv.,  pp.  312..  313. 


2  22  Prayers  for  the  Kings  Recovery. 

whole  day  in  patient  sorrow  and  retirement  with  her 
daughters.' 

The  next  news  which  reached  the  suite  was  that  the 
Prince  had  issued  commands  to  the  porter  to  admit  only 
four  persons  into  the  house  on  any  pretence  whatever; 
and  these  were  ordered  to  repair  immediately  to  the 
equerry-room  below  stairs,  while  no  one  whatsoever  was 
to  be  allowed  to  go  to  any  other  apartment.  '  From  this 
time,'  adds  the  Diary,  '  commenced  a  total  banishment 
from  all  intercourse  out  of  the  house,  and  an  unremitting 
confinement  within  its  walls.'  The  situation  was  rendered 
even  more  intolerable  by  the  sudden  return  of  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  from  Weymouth.  On  the  loth,  Miss 
Burney  writes  :  'This  was  a  most  dismal  day.  The  dear 
and  most  suffering  King  was  extremely  ill,  the  Queen  very 
wretched,  poor  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  all  spasm  and  horror, 
Miss  Planta  all  restlessness,  the  house  all  mystery,  and  my 
only  informant  and  comforter  [Colonel  Digby]  distanced.' 

Then  began  a  series  of  tantalizing  fluctuations.  From 
November  12  to  the  15th,  the  King  showed  some  signs  of 
amendment ;  but  on  Sunday,  the  i6th,  all  was  dark  again 
in  the  Upper  Lodge.  '  The  King  was  worse.  His  night 
had  been  very  bad  ;  all  the  fair  promise  of  amendment 
was  shaken ;  he  had  now  some  symptoms  even  dangerous 
to  his  life.  Oh,  good  heaven  !  what  a  day  did  this  prove  ! 
I  saw  not  a  human  face,  save  at  dinner ;  and  then  what 
faces !  gloom  and  despair  in  all,  and  silence  to  every 
species  of  intelligence.'  The  special  prayer  for  the  King's 
recovery  was  used  this  day  for  the  first  time  in  St. 
George's  Chapel.  Evidences  of  the  general  distress  were 
apparent  on  all  sides.  '  Every  prayer  in  the  service  in 
which  he  was  mentioned  brought  torrents  of  tears  from 
all  the  suppliants  that  joined  in  them.'  Fann}-  ran  away 
after  the  service  to  avoid  inquiries. 


The  King  and  his  EqiLcrries.  223 

Of  the  afternoon  she  writes :  '  It  was  melancholy  to 
see  the  crowds  of  former  welcome  visitors  who  were 
now  denied  access.  The  Prince  reiterated  his  former 
orders ;  and  I  perceived  from  my  window  those  who  had 
ventured  to  the  door  returning  back  in  tears.'  She 
received  letters  of  inquiry,  but  was  not  at  liberty  to  write 
a  word.  The  night  of  the  igth  was  no  better  than  that 
of  the  i6th.  *  Mr.  Charles  Hawkins  came,'  proceeds  the 
Diary.  '  He  had  sat  up.  Oh,  how  terrible  a  narrative 
did  he  drily  give  of  the  night ! — short,  abrupt,  peremptorily 
bad,  and  indubitably  hopeless.  I  did  not  dare  alter,  but 
I  greatly  softened  this  relation,  in  giving  it  to  my  poor 
Queen.'  On  this  day  Dr.  Warren  told  Mr.  Pitt  that  there 
was  now  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  King's  disorder 
was  no  other  than  actual  lunacy. 

All  the  equerries,  except  one  who  was  ill,  were  now  on 
duty.  The  King,  in  his  rambling  talk,  reproached  them 
with  want  of  attention.  They  lost  their  whole  time  at 
table,  he  said,  by  sitting  so  long  over  their  bottle;  'and 
Mr.  Digby,'  he  added  on  one  occasion,  '  is  as  bad  as  any 
of  them  ;  not  that  he  stays  so  long  at  table,  or  is  so  fond 
of  wine,  but  yet  he's  just  as  late  as  the  rest ;  for  he's  so 
fond  of  the  company  of  learned  ladies,  that  he  gets  to 
the  tea-table  with  Miss  Burney,  and  there  he  stays  and 
spends  his  whole  time.'  Colonel  Digby,  in  repeating  this 
speech  to  the  lady  interested,  was  good  enough  to  explain 
to  her  that  what  the  King  had  in  his  head  was — Miss 
Gunning.  The  Colonel  went  on  to  mention  Miss 
Gunning's  learning  and  accomplishments  with  great 
praise,  yet  '  with  that  sort  of  general  commendation  that 
disclaims  all  peculiar  interest;'  touched,  in  a  tone  of 
displeasure,  on  the  report  that  had  been  spread  concerning 
him  and  her ;  lightly  added  something  about  its  utter 
.falsehood  ;  and  concluded  by  saying  that  this,  in  the  then 


224  ^^^'  L^icas  Pepys. 

confused  state  of  the  King's  mind,  was  what  his  Majesty 
meant  by  'learned  ladies.'  More  puzzled  than  enlightened 
by  this  explanation,  Fanny,  with  some  hesitation,  assented 
to  the  insinuating  Chamberlain's  suggestion  that  she  should 
think  no  more  of  what  the  King  had  said,  but  allow  the 
Colonel  '  to  come  and  drink  tea  with  her  very  often.' 

From  the  20th  to  the  28th  there  was  no  improvement 
in  the  condition  of  the  sick  monarch.  Nearly  all  who 
saw  him,  whether  physicians  or  members  of  the  suite, 
began  to  abandon  hope  of  his  recovery  ;  only  Sir  Lucas 
Pepys,  an  old  friend  of  the  Burneys,  who  was  now  added 
to  the  medical  attendants,  inclined  to  a  more  encouraging 
view.  The  proceedings  of  the  28th  are  entered  in  the 
Diary,  as  follows  : 

"  Sir  Lucas  made  me  a  visit,  and  informed  me  of  all  the 
medical  proceedings  ;  and  told  me,  in  confidence,  we  were 
to  go  to  Kew  to-morrow,  though  the  Queen  herself  had 
not  yet  concurred  in  the  measure  ;  but  the  physicians 
joined  to  desire  it,  and  the}-  were  supported  by  the 
Princes.  The  difficulty  how  to  get  the  King  away  from 
his  favourite  abode  was  all  that  rested.  If  the}-  even 
attempted  force,  they  had  not  a  doubt  but  his  smallest 
resistance  would  call  up  the  whole  country  to  his  fancied 
rescue  !     Yet  how,  at  such  a  time,  prevail  by  persuasion  ? 

"  He  moved  me  even  to  tears,  by  telling  me  that  none  of 
their  own  lives  would  be  safe  if  the  King  did  not  recover, 
so  prodigiously  high  ran  the  tide  of  affection  and  loyalty. 
All  the  ph}'sicians  received  threatening  letters  daily,  to 
answer  for  the  safety  of  their  monarch  with  their  lives ! 
Sir  George  Baker  had  already  been  stopped  in  his 
carriage  by  the  mob,  to  give  an  account  of  the  King;  and 
when  he  said  it  was  a  bad  one,  they  had  furiously  ex- 
claimed, *  The  more  shame  for  vou  !' 


A  Privy  Council.  225 

"  After  he  left  me,  a  Privy  Council  was  held  at  the 
Castle,  with  the  Prince  of  Wales ;  the  Chancellor,  Mr. 
Pitt,  and  all  the  officers  of  state  were  summoned,  to  sign 
a  permission  for  the  King's  removal.  The  poor  Queen 
gave  an  audience  to  the  Chancellor  —  it  was  necessary  to 
sanctify  their  proceedings.  The  Princess  Royal  and  Lady 
Courtown  attended  her.  It  was  a  tragedy  the  most 
dismal ! 

"  The  Queen's  knowledge  of  the  King's  aversion  to  Kew 
made  her  consent  to  this  measure  with  the  extremest  re- 
luctance ;  yet  it  was  not  to  be  opposed :  it  was  stated  as 
much  the  best  for  him,  on  account  of  the  garden :  as  here 
there  is  none  but  what  is  public  to  spectators  from  the 
terrace,  or  tops  of  houses.  I  believe  they  were  perfectly 
right,  though  the  removal  was  so  tremendous. 

"  The  physicians  were  summoned  to  the  Privy  Council, 
to  give  their  opinions,  upon  oath,  that  this  step  was 
necessary. 

"  Inexpressible  was  the  alarm  of  everyone,  lest  the 
King,  if  he  recovered,  should  bear  a  lasting  resentment 
against  the  authors  and  promoters  of  this  journey.  To 
give  it,  therefore,  every  possible  sanction,  it  was  decreed 
that  he  should  be  seen  both  by  the  Chancellor  and  Mr. 
Pitt. 

"  The  Chancellor  went  into  his  presence  with  a  tremor 
such  as,  before,  he  had  been  only  accustomed  to  inspire ; 
and  when  he  came  out,  he  was  so  extremely  affected  b)^ 
the  state  in  which  he  saw  his  Royal  master  and  patron 
that  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  feet  had 
difficulty  to  support  him. 

"  Mr.  Pitt  was  more  composed,  but  expressed  his  grief 
with  so  much  respect  and  attachment,  that  it  added  new 
weight  to  the  universal  admiration  with  which  he  is  here 
beheld. 

15 


2  26  Preparing  to  Leave  Windsor. 

"  All  these  circumstances,  with  various  others  of  equal 
sadness  which  I  must  not  relate,  came  to  my  knowledge 
through  Sir  Lucas,  Mr.  de  Luc,  and  my  noon  attendance 
upon  her  Majesty,  who  was  compelled  to  dress  for  her 
audience  of  the  Chancellor. 

"  Saturday,  November  29TH, — Shall  I  ever  forget  the 
varied  emotions  of  this  dreadful  day  ! 

"  I  rose  with  the  heaviest  of  hearts,  and  found  my  poor 
Royal  Mistress  in  the  deepest  dejection  :  she  told  me  now 
of  our  intended  expedition  to  Kew.  Lady  Elizabeth 
hastened  away  to  dress,  and  I  was  alone  with  her  for 
some  time. 

"  Her  mind,  she  said,  quite  misgave  her  about  Kew:  the 
King's  dislike  was  terrible  to  think  of,  and  she  could  not 
foresee  in  what  it  might  end.  She  would  have  resisted 
the  measure  herself,  but  that  she  had  determined  not  to 
have  upon  her  own  mind  any  opposition  to  the  opinion 
of  the  physicians. 

"  The  account  of  the  night  was  still  more  and  more  dis- 
couraging :  it  was  related  to  me  by  one  of  the  pages,  Mr. 
Brawan  ;  and  though  a  little  I  softened  or  omitted 
particulars,  I  yet  most  sorrowfully  conveyed  it  to  the 
Queen. 

"Terrible  was  the  morning  ! — uninterruptedly  terrible  ! 
all  spent  in  hasty  packing  up,  preparing  for  we  knew  not 
what,  nor  for  how  long,  nor  with  what  circumstances, 
nor  scarcely  with  what  view !  We  seemed  preparing  for 
captivity,  without  having  committed  any  offence  ;  and  for 
banishment,  without  the  least  conjecture  when  we  might 
be  recalled  from  it. 

"  The  poor  Queen  was  to  get  off  in  private :  the  plan 
settled  between  the  Princes  and  the  physicians  was  that 
her  Majesty  and  the  Princesses  should  go  away  quietly, 
and  then  that  the   King  should  be  told  that  they  were 


Departure  for  Kew.  227 

gone,  which  was  the  sole  method  they  could  devise  to 
prevail  with  him  to  follow.  He  was  then  to  be  allured  by 
a  promise  of  seeing  them  at  Kew ;  and,  as  they  knew  he 
would  doubt  their  assertion,  he  was  to  go  through  the 
rooms  and  examine  the  house  himself. 

"  I  believe  it  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  her  Majesty 
departed  :  drowned  in  tears,  she  glided  along  the  passage, 
and  got  softly  into  her  carriage,  with  two  weeping 
Princesses,  and  Lady  Courtown,  who  was  to  be  her  Lady- 
in-waiting  during  this  dreadful  residence. 

"  Then  followed  the  third  Princess,  with  Lady  Char- 
lotte Finch.  They  went  off  without  any  state  or  parade, 
and  a  more  melancholy  scene  cannot  be  imagined.  There 
was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  house.  The  footmen,  the 
housemaids,  the  porter,  the  sentinels — all  cried  even 
bitterly  as  they  looked  on.  .  .  . 

"  It  was  settled  the  King  was  to  be  attended  by  three  of 
his  gentlemen  in  the  carriage,  and  to  be  followed  by  the 
physicians,  and  preceded  by  his  pages.  But  all  were  to 
depart  on  his  arrival  at  Kew,  except  his  own  Equerry-in- 
waiting.  .  .  . 

"  Miss  Planta  and  I  were  to  go  as  soon  as  the  packages 
could  be  ready,  with  some  of  the  Queen's  things.  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  was  to  remain  behind,  for  one  day,  in 
order  to  make  arrangements  about  the  jewels.  .  .  . 

"  In  what  confusion  was  the  house  !  Princes,  Equerries, 
physicians,  pages  —  all  conferring,  jwhispering,  plotting, 
and  caballing,  how  to  induce  the  King  to  set  off! 

"  At  length  we  found  an  opportunity  to  glide  through 
the  passage  to  the  coach ;  Miss  Planta  and  myself,  with 
her  maid  and  Goter 

"  We  were  almost  wholly  silent  all  the  way. 

"  When  we  arrived  at  Kew,  we  found  the  suspense  with 
which  the  King  was  awaited  truly  terrible.     Her  Majesty 

15—2 


228  A  Mo2irnful  Spectacle. 

had  determined  to  return  to  Windsor  at  night,  if  he 
came  not.  We  were  all  to  forbear  unpacking  in  the 
mean\\hile.  .  .  . 

"  Dinner  went  on,  and  still  no  King.  We  now  began  to 
grow  very  anxious,  when  Miss  Planta  exclaimed  that  she 
thought  she  heard  a  carriage.  We  all  listened.  '  I 
hope  !'  I  cried.  .  .  The  sound  came  nearer,  and  presently 
a  carriage  drove  into  the  front  court.  I  could  see 
nothing,  it  was  so  dark ;  but  I  presently  heard  the  much- 
respected  voice  of  the  dear  unhappy  King,  speaking 
rapidly  to  the  porter,  as  he  alighted  from  the  coach.  .  .  . 

"  The  poor  King  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  quit 
Windsor  with  the  utmost  difficulty  :  he  was  accompanied 
by  General  Harcourt,  his  aide-de-camp,  and  Colonels 
Goldsworth}'  and  Welbred — no  one  else !  He  had  passed 
all  the  rest  with  apparent  composure,  to  come  to  his 
carriage,  for  they  lined  the  passage,  eager  to  see  him  once 
more !  and  almost  all  Windsor  was  collected  round  the 
rails,  etc.,  to  witness  the  mournful  spectacle  of  his 
departure,  which  left  them  in  the  deepest  despondence, 
with  scarce  a  ray  of  hope  ever  to  see  him  again. 

"  The  briber}',  however,  which  brought,  was  denied  him  ! 
— he  was  by  no  means  to  see  the  Queen  !  .  .  . 

*'  I  could  not  sleep  all  night — I  thought  I  heard  the  poor 
King.  He  was  under  the  same  range  of  apartments, 
though  far  distant,  but  his  indignant  disappointment 
haunted  me.  The  Queen,  too,  was  very  angry  at  having 
promises  made  in  her  name  which  could  not  be  kept. 
What  a  day  altogether  was  this  ! 

*'  Sunday,  November  30TH. — Here,  in  all  its  dread 
colours,  dark  as  its  darkest  prognostics,  began  the  Kew 
campaign.  I  went  to  my  poor  Queen  at  seven  o'clock: 
the  Princess  Augusta  arose  and  went  away  to  dress,  and 
I  received  her  Majesty's  commands  to  go  down  for  in- 


Mrs.  Sclnvellenberg  Arrives.  229 

quiries.  She  had  herself  passed  a  wretched  night,  and 
already  lamented  leaving  Windsor, 

"  I  waited  very  long  in  the  cold  dark  passages  below, 
before  I  could  find  anyone  of  whom  to  ask  intelligence. 
The  parlours  were  without  fires,  and  washing.  I  gave 
directions  afterwards  to  have  a  fire  in  one  of  them  by 
seven  o'clock  every  morning. 

"  At  length  I  procured  the  speech  of  one  of  the  pages, 
and  heard  that  the  night  had  been  the  most  violently  bad 
of  any  yet  passed  ! — -and  no  wonder  ! 

"  I  hardly  knew  how  to  creep  upstairs,  frozen  both 
within  and  without,  to  tell  such  news ;  but  it  was  not  re- 
ceived as  if  unexpected,  and  I  omitted  whatever  was  not 
essential  to  be  known. 

"  Afterwards  arrived  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  so  oppressed 
between  her  spasms  and  the  house's  horrors,  that  the 
oppression  she  inflicted  ought  perhaps  to  be  pardoned. 
It  was,  however,  difficult  enough  to  bear !  Harshness, 
tyranny,  dissension,  and  even  insult,  seemed  personified. 
I  cut  short  details  upon  this  subject — they  would  but 
make  you  sick." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

State  of  Kew  Palace — Dr.  Willis  and  his  Son  called  in — Progress  under  the 
New  Doctors — Party  Spirit — The  Regency  Question — Attacks  on  the  Queen 
— Fluctuations  in  the  King's  State — Violence  of  Burke — Extraordinary  Scene 
between  the  King  and  Miss  Burney  in  Kew  Gardens — Marked  Improvement 
of  the  King — The  Regency  Bill  postponed — The  King  informs  M'ss  Burney 
of  his  Recover)' — The  Restoration — Demonstrations  of  Joy —Return  to 
Windsor — Old  Routine  resumed — Reaction. 

The  beginning  of  December  saw  the  diminished  and 
imprisoned  household  suffering  under  an  increase  of 
apprehensions.  The  condition  of  the  King  became  even 
more  alarming ;  the  Queen  began  to  sink  as  she  had 
not  done  before.  From  the  outer  world  came  sinister 
rumours,  the  duration  of  the  malady  threatening  a 
Regency — '  a  word,'  says  Fanny,  '  which  I  have  not  yet 
been  able  to  articulate.'  Inside,  the  palace  at  Kew  was 
*  in  a  state  of  cold  and  discomfort  past  all  imagination.' 
It  had  never  been  a  winter  residence,  and  there  was 
nothing  prepared  to  fit  it  for  becoming  one.  Not  only 
were  the  bedrooms  of  the  Princesses  without  carpets,  but 
so  out  of  repair  was  the  building,  that  a  plentiful  supply  of 
sandbags  had  to  be  provided  to  moderate  the  gales  that 
blew  through  the  doors  and  windows.  The  parlour  in 
which  Miss  Burney  had  to  sit  with  the  Schwellenberg 
was  carpetless,  chilly,  and  miserable  ;  and  even  this  was 
locked  in  the  morning  on  Fanny's  admission  of  having 
used  it  before  breakfast  ;  Cerbera  barking  out  that, 
*when  everybody  went  to  her  room,  she  might  keep  an 


Dr.    Willis  and  his  Son  called  in.  231 

inn  —  what  you  call  hotel.'  These  domestic  incon- 
veniences endured  for  some  time.  By  degrees,  however, 
the  worst  of  them  were  obviated.  The  bare  boards  were 
wholly  or  partially  covered  ;  the  apartments  allotted  to 
the  family  were  refurnished  and  redistributed  ;  and  Miss 
Burney  was  no  longer  exposed  to  the  cold  damps  of  a 
dark  passage  while  awaiting  the  page  who  brought  her 
for  the  Queen  the  first  news  of  how  the  night  had  been 
passed  by  the  patient. 

Hitherto  no  progress  had  been  made  towards  a 
successful  treatment  of  the  King's  malady.  In  the  early 
days  of  December,  however,  even  the  Queen  felt  it  useless 
to  disguise  any  longer  the  nature  of  the  attack,  and  ex- 
perts in  mental  disease  were  accord ingh-  added  to  the 
staff  of  physicians.  Fortunately,  a  right  choice  was  made 
at  the  first  trial.  The  new  advisers  selected  were  Dr. 
Francis  Willis,  a  clergyman  who  for  twenty-eight  years  had 
devoted  himself  to  the  cure  of  lunacy,  and  his  son,  Dr. 
John  Willis,  who  was  associated  with  him  in  practice. 
The  arrival  of  these  two  country  practitioners — they 
came  from  Lincolnshire — revived  the  hopes  which  the 
Court  physicians,  by  their  dissensions  and  general 
despondency,  had  well-nigh  destroyed.  Though  decried 
by  the  regular  faculty  as  interlopers,  if  not  charlatans,  the 
Doctors  Willis  took  the  hearts  of  all  at  Kew  Palace  by 
storm.  Mr.  Digby  pronounced  them  '  fine,  lively,  natural, 
independent  characters.  Miss  Burney,  on  making  their 
acquaintance,  heartily  re-echoed  this  praise  : 

"  I  am  extremely  struck  with  both  these  physicians. 
Dr.  Willis  is  a  man  of  ten  thousand  ;  open,  honest, 
dauntless,  light-hearted,  innocent,  and  high-minded:  I 
see  him  impressed  with  the  most  animated  reverence  and 
affection  for  his  royal  patient  ;    but  it  is  wholly  for  his 


232  Progress  tinder  the  N'civ  Doctors. 

character — not  a  whit  for  his  rank.  Dr.  John,  his  eldest 
son,  is  extremely  handsome,  and  inherits,  in  a  milder 
degree,  all  the  qualities  of  his  father ;  but  living  more  in 
the  general  world,  and  having  his  fame  and  fortune  still 
to  settle,  he  has  not  yet  acquired  the  same  courage,  nor  is 
he,  by  nature,  quite  so  sanguine  in  his  opinions.  The 
manners  of  both  are  extremely  pleasing,  and  they  both 
proceed  completely  their  own  way,  not  merely  un- 
acquainted with  Court  etiquette,  but  wholl}',  and  most 
artlessly,  unambitious  to  form  any  such  acquaintance." 

The  new  doctors  at  once  modified  the  treatment  to 
which  the  King  had  been  subject,  and  the  effects  of  the 
change  were  speedily  apparent : 

"  Dp:cember  iith. — To-day  we  have  had  the  fairest 
hopes ;  the  King  took  his  first  walk  in  Kew  garden  ! 
There  have  been  impediments  to  this  trial  hitherto,  that 
have  been  thought  insurmountable,  though,  in  fact,  they 
were  most  frivolous.  The  walk  seemed  to  do  him  good, 
and  we  are  all  in  better  spirits  about  him  than  for  this 
many  and  many  a  long  day  past." 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  advance  to  restora- 
tion would  proceed  without  break  or  check.  On  the  17th 
we  have  the  entry  :  '  My  account  this  morning  was  quite 
afflictive  once  more ;'  but  under  date  of  the  22nd  we 
read  :  '  With  what  joy  did  I  carry  this  morning  an  ex- 
ceeding good  account  of  the  King  to  my  ro3'al  mistress  ! 
It  was  trebly  welcome,  as  much  might  depend  upon  it  in 
the  resolutions  of  the  House  concerning  the  Regency, 
which  was  of  to-day's  discussion  ;'  and  in  some  notes 
summing  up  the  remaining  da>s  of  the  year,  we  have: 
*  The  King  went  on,  now  better,  now  worse,  in  a  most 
fearful  manner;  but  Sir  Lucas  Pepys  never  lost  sight  of 
hope,  and   the  management  of  Dr.   Willis   and   his   two 


Party  Spirit. 


J  J 


sons*  was  most  wonderfully  acute  and  successful.  Yet,  so 
much  were  they  perplexed  and  tormented  by  the  inter- 
ruptions given  to  their  plans  and  methods,  that  they 
were  frequently  almost  tempted  to  resign  the  undertaking 
from  anger  and  confusion.' 

The  new  year  opened  amid  the  same  alternations  of 
progress  and  relapse.  In  society,  the  war  of  politics  took 
a  new  departure  from  the  King's  derangement.  Sup- 
porters of  the  Administration  were  confident  of  his  speedy 
recovery ;  the  Opposition  were  indefatigable  in  spreading 
the  belief  that  his  disorder  was  incurable.  The  animosity 
on  both  sides  rose  to  a  height  which  had  not  been 
equalled  even  at  Pitt's  first  entrance  into  office.  '  It  is 
a  strange  subject,'  wrote  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
'  for  party  to  insist  upon,  and  disgraceful  to  the  country 
that  it  should  be  so ;  but  so  it  is.'  Uneasiness  and  un- 
certainty prevailed  everywhere.  Some  of  Miss  Burney's 
best  friends  began  to  be  dismayed  at  her  position,  and  at 
the  prospect  before  her.  Her  sister  Charlotte,  now  Mrs. 
Francis,  wrote  from  Norfolk,  urging  that  Dr.  Burney's 
consent  should  be  obtained  to  her  resignation,  and  offer- 
ing her,  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Francis  and  herself,  a  permanent 
residence  in  their  house.  Evidently,  Fanny's  family 
regarded  her  as  a  helpless  person,  requiring  to  be  looked 
after  and  taken  care  of.  Her  faith,  however,  in  the  com- 
forting predictions  of  the  Willises  and  Sir  Lucas  Pepys 
remained  unshaken,  and  she  would  not  hear  of  quitting 
her  post. 

A  fresh  trouble  had  by  this  time  arisen.  The  Queen 
could  not  escape  becoming  involved  in  the  strife  of  parties. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  and  the  Duke  of  York  were  naturally 
impatient   to   push  their  afflicted    father  from   his  seat. 

*  Dr.  Willis  was  now  assisted  by  a  younger  son,  named  Thomas,  who,  like 
himself,  was  in  holy  orders,  as  well  as  by  his  eldest  son  John. 


234  The  Regency  Question. 

What  they  wanted  in  brains  was  ampl}-  suppHed  by  the 
combined  genius  of  the  Whig  leaders — by  Fox,  and 
Burke,  and  Sheridan — all  embittered  at  having  been  so 
often  checkmated  by  the  young  statesman  whom  they 
had  flouted  as  a  mere  boy.  What  the  Princes  lacked  in 
tenacity  of  purpose  was  driven  into  them  by  the  incessant 
cry  of  myriad  place-hunters,  yelling  like  famished  wolves. 
The  first  thought  of  the  faction  was  how  to  clutch  power 
as  soon  as  might  be  ;  their  second,  how  to  engross  it  as 
exclusively  as  possible.  No  scruple  was  made  of  declaring 
that  all  places  would  be  vacated  and  refilled,  even  if  the 
Regency  were  to  last  only  a  single  day.*  That  there 
would  be  a  complete  change  of  Administration  was  a 
matter  of  course.  But  beyond  this,  changes  were  medi- 
tated in  the  army,  and  other  departments  of  the  State, 
which  it  was  known  must  grievously  offend  the  King, 
should  they  come  to  his  knowledge,  x^mong  other  promo- 
tions, every  colonel  in  favour  with  the  Prince  or  the  Duke 
was  to  be  raised  to  the  rank  of  Major-General.  Mrs, 
Fitzherbert,  it  was  said,  was  to  be  created  a  Duchess. f 

Next  to  Pitt  and  his  colleagues,  the  chief  obstacle 
to  the  speedy  execution  of  these  notable  projects  was 
Queen  Charlotte.  It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  a  wife 
would  be  as  ready  as  the  heir-apparent  to  believe  in  the 
confirmed  insanity  of  the  head  of  the  house.  It  was 
excusable,  to  say  the  least,  that  one  who  for  more  than 
twenty -eight  years  had  filled,  without  reproach,  the 
station  of  Queen  Consort,  should  object  to  be  effaced  with 
her  lord,  until  the  necessity  for  his  seclusion  was  unmis- 
takably demonstrated.  And  when  discord  raged  in  the 
medical  council,  when  Dr.  Warren  pronounced  the  King 

*  'Cornwallis  Tapers,'  vol.  i.,  p.  406. 

+  'Buckingham  I'apers,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  104;  '  .Viickland  Correspondence,' vol.  ii., 
pp.  251,  2S9. 


Attacks  on  the  Queen. 


to  be  '  rather  worse  '  than  he  had  been  at  Windsor,  while 
to  Sir  Lucas  and  the  speciahsts,  as  well  as  to  ordinar}- 
observers,  his  condition  appeared  most  hopeful,  she  might 
surely  be  pardoned  for  leaning  to  the  favourable  view. 
Partisans,  however,  were  too  excited  to  listen  to  reason. 
The  clergyman  from  Lincolnshire  was  denounced  in  the 
Opposition  newspapers  as  a  mere  empiric  and  creature  of 
Pitt.  The  most  scurrilous  abuse  was  heaped  upon  the 
Queen.  Both  in  the  press,  and  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
she  was  accused  of  being  in  league  with  Willis  to  mis- 
represent the  state  of  the  King's  health,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent the  Prince,  her  son,  from  being  invested  with  the 
authority  of  Regent.  Pitt,  having  no  option  but  to  pro- 
pose a  Regency,  was  proceeding  with  the  utmost  caution, 
and  seeking  to  lay  on  the  expectant  Viceroy  several 
restrictions,  which  his  character  seemed  to  call  for,  and 
which  assuredly  have  not  been  disapproved  by  the  judg- 
ment of  posterity.  Besides  limiting  the  Prince's  power 
to  confer  peerages  and  pensions,  and  to  alienate  royal 
property,  the  Premier  recommended  that  the  care  and 
management  of  the  King's  person,  as  well  as  the  appoint- 
ments in  the  household,  should  be  entrusted  to  the 
Queen.  Perhaps  no  part  of  the  Government's  plan 
aroused  more  angry  hostility  than  this.  '  How  would  the 
King  on  his  recovery,'  demanded  Burke  in  Parliament, 
'  be  pleased  at  seeing  the  patronage  of  the  Household 
taken  from  the  Prince  of  Wales,  his  representative,  and 
given  to  the  Queen  ?  He  must  be  shocked  at  the  idea.' 
Allusions  to  these  attacks  on  one  who  so  little  deserved 
them  occur  in  Miss  Burney's  Diary  about  this  time  : 

"January  ioth. — The  King  again  is  not  so  well ;  and 
new  evidences  are  called  for  in  the  House,  relative  to  his 
state.     My  poor  Ro}'al  Mistress  now  droops.     I  grieve — 


236  Fluchiations  iti  the  Kings  State. 

grieve  to  see  her  ! — but  her  own  name  and  conduct  called 
in  question !  Who  can  wonder  she  is  shocked  and 
shaken  ?  Was  there  not  enough  before,  firml}'  as  she 
supported  it  ? 

"iiTH. — This  morning  Dr.  John  gave  me  but  a  bad 
account  of  the  poor  King.  His  amendment  is  not  pro- 
gressive ;  it  fails,  and  goes  back,  and  disappoints  most 
grievously ;  yet  it  would  be  nothing  were  the  case  and  its 
circumstances  less  discussed,  and  were  expectation  more 
reasonable. 

"i2TH. — A  melanchol}'  day  :  news  bad  both  at  home 
and  abroad.  At  home,  the  dear,  unhappy  King  still  worse  ; 
abroad,  new  examinations  voted  of  the  physicians  !  Good 
Heaven  !  what  an  insult  does  this  seem  from  Parliamentary 
power,  to  investigate  and  bring  forth  to  the  world  every 
circumstance  of  such  a  malady  as  is  ever  held  sacred  to 
secrecy  in  the  most  private  families  !  How  indignant  we 
all  feel  here  no  words  can  say." 

Macaulay  is  very  severe  on  poor  Miss  Burney  for  the 
want  of  correct  constitutional  principles  shown  in  this 
last  entry.  He  cites  the  passage  to  prove  that  the  second 
Robe- Keeper's  '  way  of  life  was  rapidly  impairing  her 
powers  of  reasoning  and  her  sense  of  justice  ;'  that,  as 
he  elsewhere  says,  this  existence  was  as  incompatible 
with  health  '  of  mind  as  the  air  of  the  Pomptine  Marshes 
with  health  of  body.'  The  critic  is  perfectly  right  in 
stating  that  the  motion  which  roused  indignation  at 
Kew  was  made  by  Mr.  Pitt,  who  was  regarded  as  the 
King's  champion,  though  he  should  have  added  that  it 
was  brought  forward  in  response  to  a  challenge  from  the 
Opposition.  But  Miss  Burney  felt  as  a  woman,  and 
wrote  as  a  woman,  not  as  a  politician.  Had  she  been  a 
politician,  she  would  still  have  been  entitled  to  the  in- 


Violejice  of  Bui^ke.  237 

dulgence  which  was  being  claimed  and  abused  by  every 
speaker  and  journalist  on  the  side  opposed  to  the  Court. 
Consider  the  debates  and  the  scandalous  charges  that  she 
read  daily  in  the  newspapers.  And  if  she  erred,  she  erred 
in  company  with  a  large  number  of  other  heretics  who 
should  have  been  far  better  fortified  in  sound  doctrine 
than  herself.  If  the  atmosphere  of  the  palace  was  un- 
wholesome, it  was  much  less  contaminating  than  the 
malaria  of  Carlton  House.  If  the  novelist  was  wrong  in 
thinking  that  the  House  of  Commons  ought  not  to  con- 
cern itself  with  the  details  of  the  King's  illness,  what  is 
to  be  said  of  the  eminent  Whigs  who  maintained  that  the 
Legislature  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  question  relating 
to  the  disposition  of  the  regal  authority  ?  What  shall  be 
said  for  Alexander  Wedderburn,  then  Chief  Justice  of 
the  Common  Pleas,  and  afterwards  Lord  Chancellor, 
who  advised  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  seize  on  the  Regency 
without  consulting  either  House  of  Parliament  ?  Or 
what  can  be  urged  for  Fox  himself,  who  asserted  his 
patron's  right  to  take  this  course,  in  the  very  face  of  the 
assembled  Commons  ?  *  It  is  melancholy,'  says  Macaulay, 
*  to  see  genius  sinking  into  such  debasement.'  What 
words,  then,  shall  we  apply  to  Edmund  Burke,  who 
scandalized  both  sides  of  the  House  by  declaring  that 
'  the  Almighty  had  hurled  the  monarch  from  his  throne, 
and  plunged  him  into  a  condition  which  drew  down  upon 
him  the  pity  of  the  meanest  peasant  in  his  kingdom  '  ? 
Miss  Burney,  still  feeling  and  writing  as  a  woman,  could 
not  accuse  her  old  friend  Burke  of  being  debased,  though 
she  sadly  laments  over  him  as  '  that  most  misguided  of 
vehement  and  wild  orators.'*  Such  was  the  virulence 
engendered  in  a  spectator  of  the  misery  at  Court  by 
associating  with  Leonard  Smelt  and  Colonel  Digby. 

*  Diary,  vol.  iii.,  p.  163. 


238  The  King  and  Miss  Burney. 

"  Kew  Palace,  Monday,  February  2nd. — What  an 
adventure  had  I  this  morning  !  one  that  has  occasioned 
me  the  severest  personal  terror  I  ever  experienced  in  my 
Hfe. 

"  Sir  Lucas  Pepys  still  persisting  that  exercise  and  air 
were  absolutely  necessary  to  save  me  from  illness,  I  have 
continued  my  walks,  varying  my  gardens  from  Richmond 
to  Kew,  according  to  the  accounts  I  received  of  the 
movements  of  the  King.  For  this  I  had  her  Majesty's 
permission,  on  the  representation  of  Sir  Lucas. 

"  This  morning,  when  I  received  my  intelligence  of  the 
King  from  Dr.  John  Willis,  I  begged  to  know  where  I 
might  walk  in  safety.  '  In  Kew  Gardens,"  he  said,  '  as 
the  King  would  be  in  Richmond.' 

"  '  Should  any  unfortunate  circumstance,'  I  cried,  '  at 
any  time,  occasion  my  being  seen  by  his  Majesty,  do  not 
mention  my  name,  but  let  me  run  off  without  call  or 
notice.' 

"  This  he  promised.  Everybody,  indeed,  is  ordered  to 
keep  out  of  sight. 

"  Taking,  therefore,  the  time  I  had  most  at  command, 
I  strolled  into  the  gardens.  I  had  proceeded,  in  my 
quick  way,  nearly  half  the  round,  when  I  suddenly  per- 
ceived, through  some  trees,  two  or  three  figures.  Rel3ang 
on  the  instructions  of  Dr.  John,  I  concluded  them  to  be 
workmen  and  gardeners  ;  yet  tried  to  look  sharp,  and  in 
so  doing,  as  they  were  less  shaded,  I  thought  I  saw  the 
person  of  his  Majesty  ! 

'*  Alarmed  past  all  possible  expression,  I  waited  not  to 
know  more,  but  turning  back,  ran  off  with  all  my  might. 
But  what  was  my  terror  to  hear  myself  pursued  ! — to 
hear  the  voice  of  the  King  himself  loudly  and  hoarsely 
calling  after  me,  '  Miss  Burney  !  Miss  Burney  !' 

"  I  protest   I  was  ready  to  die.     I  knew  not  in  what 


An  Extraordinary  Scene.  239 

state  he  mi^ht  be  at  the  time ;  I  only  knew  the  orders  to 
keep  out  of  his  way  were  universal  ;  that  the  Queen 
would  highly  disapprove  any  unauthorised  meeting,  and 
that  the  very  action  of  my  running  away  might  deepl}^  in 
his  present  irritable  state,  offend  him.  Nevertheless,  on 
I  ran,  too  terrified  to  stop,  and  in  search  of  some  short 
passage,  for  the  garden  is  full  of  little  labyrinths,  by 
which  I  might  escape. 

"  The  steps  still  pursued  me,  and  still  the  poor  hoarse 
and  altered  voice  rang  in  my  ears  : — more  and  more  foot- 
steps resounded  frightfully  behind  me,— the  attendants 
all  running,  to  catch  their  eager  master,  and  the  voices  of 
the  two  Doctor  Willises  loudly  exhorting  him  not  to  heat 
himself  so  unmercifully. 

"  Heavens,  how  I  ran  !  I  do  not  think  I  should  have 
felt  the  hot  lava  from  Vesuvius — at  least,  not  the  hot 
cinders — had  I  so  run  during  its  eruption.  My  feet  were 
not  sensible  that  they  even  touched  the  ground. 

"  Soon  after,  I  heard  other  voices,  shriller,  though  less 
nervous,  call  out,  '  Stop  !  stop  !  stop  !' 

"  I  could  by  no  means  consent  :  I  knew  not  what  was 
purposed,  but  I  recollected  fully  my  agreement  with  Dr. 
John  that  very  morning,  that  I  should  decamp  if  surprised, 
and  not  be  named. 

"  My  own  fears  and  repugnance,  also,  after  a  flight  and 
disobedience  like  this,  were  doubled  in  the  thought  of  not 
escaping :  I  knew  not  to  what  I  might  be  exposed,  should 
the  malady  be  then  high,  and  take  the  turn  of  resentment. 
Still,  therefore,  on  I  flew  ;  and  such  was  my  speed,  so 
almost  incredible  to  relate  or  recollect,  that  I  fairly  believe 
no  one  of  the  whole  party  could  have  overtaken  me,  if 
these  words,  from  one  of  the  attendants,  had  not  reached 
me,  '  Doctor  Willis  begs  30U  to  stop  !' 

"  '  I  cannot  !    I   cannot  !'  I    answered,   still  flying  on. 


240  An  Extraordinary  Scene. 

when  he  called  out,  '  You  must,  ma'am  ;  it  hurts  the 
King  to  run.' 

"  Then,  indeed,  I  stopped — in  a  state  of  fear  reall)- 
amounting  to  agony.  I  turned  round,  I  saw  the  two 
Doctors  had  got  the  King  between  them,  and  three 
attendants  of  Dr.  Willis's  were  hovering  about.  Thej- 
all  slackened  their  pace,  as  they  saw  me  stand  still ;  but 
such  was  the  excess  of  my  alarm,  that  I  was  wholly 
insensible  to  the  effects  of  a  race  which,  at  any  other 
time,  would  have  required  an  hour's  recruit. 

"  As  they  approached,  some  little  presence  of  mind 
happily  came  to  my  command  :  it  occurred  to  me  that, 
to  appease  the  wrath  of  my  flight,  I  must  now  show  some 
confidence :  I  therefore  faced  them  as  undauntedly  as  I 
was  able,  only  charging  the  nearest  of  the  attendants  to 
stand  by  my  side. 

"  When  they  were  within  a  few  yards  of  me,  the  King 
called  out,  '  Why  did  you  run  away  ?' 

"  Shocked  at  a  question  impossible  to  answer,  yet  a 
little  assured  by  the  mild  tone  of  his  voice,  I  instantly 
forced  myself  forward  to  meet  him,  though  the  internal 
sensation,  which  satisfied  me  this  was  a  step  the  most 
proper  to  appease  his  suspicions  and  displeasure,  was  so 
violently  combated  by  the  tremor  of  my  nerves,  that  I 
fairly  think  I  may  reckon  it  the  greatest  effort  of  personal 
courage  I  have  ever  made. 

*'  The  effort  answered  :  I  looked  up,  and  met  all  his 
wonted  benignity  of  countenance,  though  something  still 
of  wildness  in  his  eyes.  Think,  however,  of  my  surprise, 
to  feel  him  put  both  his  hands  round  my  two  shoulders, 
and  then  kiss  my  cheek  ! 

"  I  wonder  I  did  not  really  sink,  so  exquisite  was  my 
affright  when  I  saw  him  spread  out  his  arms !  Involun- 
tarily, I  concluded  he  meant  to  crush  mc  :  but  the  Willises, 


The  Kings  Conversation.  241 

who  have  never  seen  him  till  this  fatal  illness,  not  knowing 
how  very  extraordinary  an  action  this  was  from  him, 
simply  smiled  and  looked  pleased,  supposing,  perhaps,  it 
was  his  customary  salutation  ! 

"  I  believe,  however,  it  was  but  the  joy  of  a  heart  un- 
bridled, now,  by  the  forms  and  proprieties  of  established 
custom  and  sober  reason.  To  see  any  of  his  household 
thus  by  accident,  seemed  such  a  near  approach  to  liberty 
and  recovery,  that  who  can  wonder  it  should  serve  rather 
to  elate  than  lessen  what  yet  remains  of  his  disorder  ! 

"  He  now  spoke  in  such  terms  of  his  pleasure  in  seeing 
me,  that  I  soon  lost  the  whole  of  my  terror ;  astonish- 
ment to  find  him  so  nearly  well,  and  gratification  to  see 
him  so  pleased,  removed  ^every  uneasy  feeling,  and  the 
joy  that  succeeded,  in  my  conviction  of  his  recovery, 
made  me  ready  to  throw  myself  at  his  feet  to  express  it. 

"What  a  conversation  followed!  When  he  saw  me 
fearless,  he  grew  more  and  more  alive,  and  made  me  walk 
close  by  his  side,  away  from  the  attendants,  and  even  the 
Willises  themselves,  who,  to  indulge  him,  retreated.  I 
own  myself  not  completely  composed,  but  alarm  I  could 
entertain  no  more. 

"  Everything  that  came  uppermost  in  his  mind  he 
mentioned  ;  he  seemed  to  have  just  such  remains  of  his 
flightiness  as  heated  his  imagination  without  deranging 
his  reason,  and  robbed  him  of  all  control  over  his  speech, 
though  nearly  in  his  perfect  state  of  mind  as  to  his  opinions. 
"  What  did  he  not  say  !  —  He  opened  his  whole  heart  to 
me, — expounded  all  his  sentiments,  and  acquainted  me 
with  all  his  intentions. 

"  The  heads  of  his  discourse  I  must  give  you  briefly,  as 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  highly  curious  to  hear  them,  and  as 
no  accident  can  render  of  much  consequence  what  a  man 
says  in  such  a  state  of  physical  intoxication. 

16 


242        •  TJie  Kings  CGiiversation. 

"  He  assured  me  he  was  quite  well — as  well  as  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life  :  and  then  inquired  how  I  did.  and 
how  I  went  on  ?  and  whether  I  was  more  comfortable  ? 

"  If  these  questions,  in  their  implication,  surprised  me, 
imagine  how  that  surprise  must  increase  when  he  pro- 
ceeded to  explain  them  !  He  asked  after  the  coadjutrix, 
laughin,;:::,  and  saying,  '  Never  mind  her  ! — don't  be  op- 
pressed— I  am  3'our  friend  !  don't  let  her  cast  you  down  ! 
— I  know  you  have  a  hard  time  of  it — but  don't  mind 
her!' 

"  Almost  thunderstruck  with  astonishment,  I  merely 
curtseyed  to  his  kind  '  I  am  your  friend,'  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Then  presently  he  added,  '  Stick  to  your  father — 
stick  to  your  own  family — let  them  be  your  objects.' 

"  How  readily  I  assented  ! 

"  Again  he  repeated  all  I  have  just  written,  nearly  in 
the  same  words,  but  ended  it  more  seriously  :  he  suddenly 
stopped,  and  held  me  to  stop  too,  and  putting  his  hand 
on  his  breast,  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  he  gravely  and 
slowly  said,  '  I  will  protect  you  ! — I  promise  you  that — 
and  therefore  depend  upon  me  !' 

*  I  thanked  him  ;  and  the  Willises,  thinking  him  rather 
too  elevated,  came  to  propose  m}'  walking  on.  '  No,  no, 
no  !'  he  cried,  a  hundred  times  in  a  breath  ;  and  their 
good  humour  prevailed,  and  they  let  him  again  walk  on 
with  his  new  companion. 

"  He  then  gave  me  a  history  of  his  pages,  animating 
almost  into  a  rage,  as  he  related  his  subjects  of  dis- 
pleasure with  them,   particularly  with   Mr.  Ernst,*  who, 

*  Many  stories  have  been  told  of  the  deranged  King  having  been  brutally 
treated  by  this  ninn  Ernst,  who  is  said  on  one  occasioii  to  have  thrown  the 
patient  violently  down,  exclaiming  to  the  attendants,  'There  is  your  King  for 
you  !'  Kut  Krnst,  who  was  a  I'age  of  the  Back  Stairs,  received  a  pension  on 
his  retirement.  It  seems  probable,  therefore,  that  Ernst's  supposed  brutality 
was,  as  Miss  Burney  sugt^tsls,  an  illusion  of  the  King's  malady. 


The  Kings  Conve^'sation.  243 

he  told  me,  had  been  brought  up  by  himself.  I  hope  his 
ideas  upon  these  men  are  the  result  of  the  mistakes  of 
his  malady, 

"  Then  he  asked  me  some  questions  that  very  greatly 
distressed  me,  relating  to  information  given  him  in  his 
illness,  from  various  motives,  but  which  he  suspected  to 
be  false,  and  which  I  knew  he  had  reason  to  suspect  :  yet 
was  it  most  dangerous  to  set  anything  right,  as  I  was  not 
aware  what  might  be  the  views  of  their  having  been 
stated  wrong.  I  was  as  discreet  as  I  knew  how  to  be, 
and  1  hope  I  did  no  mischief;  but  this  was  the  worst 
part  of  the  dialogue. 

"  He  next  talked  to  me  a  great  deal  of  my  dear  father, 
and  made  a  thousand  inquiries  concerning  his  '  History 
of  Music'  This  brought  him  to  his  favourite  theme, 
Handel ;  and  he  told  me  innumerable  anecdotes  of  him, 
and  particularly  that  celebrated  tale  of  Handel's  saying 
of  himself,  '  While  that  boy  lives,  my  music  will  never 
want  a  protector."  And  this,  he  said,  I  might  relate  to 
m}'  father. 

"  Then  he  ran  over  most  of  his  oratorios,  attempting  to 
sing  the  subjects  of  several  airs  and  choruses,  but  so 
dreadfully  hoarse  that  the  sound  was  terrible. 

"  Dr.  Willis,  quite  alarmed  at  this  exertion,  feared  he 
would  do  himself  harm,  and  again  proposed  a  separation. 
*  No,  no,  no  !'  he  exclaimed,  '  not  yet ;  I  have  something 
I  must  just  mention  first.' 

"  Dr.  Willis,  delighted  to  comply,  even  when  uneasy  at 
compliance,  again  gave  way. 

"  The  good  King  then  greatly  affected  me.  He  began 
upon  my  revered  old  friend,  Mrs.  Delany  ;  and  he  spoke  of 
her  with  such  warmth — such  kindness  !  '  She  was  my 
friend  !'  he  cried,  'and  I  loved  her  as  a  friend!  I  have 
made  a  memorandum  when  I  lost  her — I  will  show  it  you.' 

1 5 — 2 


244  '^^^^  Kings  Conversation. 

"  He  pulled  out  a  pocket-book,  and  rummaged  some 
time,  but  to  no  purpose. 

"  The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes — he  wiped  them,  and  Dr. 
Willis  again  became  very  anxious.  '  Come,  sir,'  he 
cried,  '  now  do  you  come  in  and  let  the  lady  go  on  her 
walk, — come,  now,  you  have  talked  a  long  while, — so 
we'll  go  in — if  your  Majesty  pleases.' 

"  '  No,  no  !'  he  cried,  *  I  want  to  ask  her  a  few 
questions  ; — I  have  lived  so  long  out  of  the  world,  I  know 
nothing !' 

"  This  touched  me  to  the  heart.  We  walked  on  together, 
and  he  inquired  after  various  persons,  particularly  Mrs. 
Boscawen,  because  she  was  Mrs.  Delany's  friend !  Then, 
for  the  same  reason,  after  Mr.  Frederick  Montagu,  of 
whom  he  kindly  said,  '  I  know  he  has  a  great  regard  for 
me,  for  all  he  joined  the  Opposition.'  Lord  Grey  de 
Wilton,  Sir  Watkin  Wynn,  the  Duke  of  Beaufort,  and 
various  others,  followed. 

"  He  then  told  me  he  was  very  much  dissatisfied  with 
several  of  his  State  officers,  and  meant  to  form  an  entire 
new  establishment.  He  took  a  paper  out  of  his  pocket- 
book,  and  showed  me  his  new  list. 

"  This  was  the  wildest  thing  that  passed  ;  and  Dr.  John 
Willis  now  seriously  urged  our  separating  ;  but  he  would 
not  consent  ;  he  had  only  three  more  words  to  say,  he 
declared,  and  again  he  conquered. 

"  He  now  spoke  of  my  father,  with  still  more  kindness, 
and  told  me  he  ought  to  have  had  the  post  of  Master  of 
the  Band,  and  not  that  little  poor  musician  Parsons,  who 
was  not  fit  for  it :  '  But  Lord  Salisbury,'  he  cried,  '  used 
your  father  very  ill  in  that  business,  and  so  he  did  me  ! 
However,  I  have  dashed  out  his  name,  and  I  shall  put 
your  father's  in, — as  soon  as  I  get  loose  again  !' 

"  This  again — how  affecting  was  this  ! 


Marked  Improvement  of  the  King.  245 

"  '  And  what,'  cried  he,  '  has  your  father  g^ot,  at  last  ? 
nothing  but  that  poor  thing  at  Chelsea  ?  O  fie  !  fie  !  fie  ! 
But  never  mind  !  I  will  take  care  of  him  !  I  will  do  it 
myself!' 

"  Then  presently  he  added,  '  As  to  Lord  Salisbury,  he 
is  out  already,  as  this  memorandum  will  show  you,  and 
so  are  many  more.  I  shall  be  much  better  served  ;  and 
when  once  I  get  away,  I  shall  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron  !' 

"  This  was  very  unlike  himself,  and  startled  the  two 
good  doctors,  who  could  not  bear  to  cross  him,  and  were 
exulting  at  my  seeing  his  great  amendment,  but  yet  grew 
quite  uneasy  at  his  earnestness  and  volubility. 

"  Finding  we  now  must  part,  he  stopped  to  take  leave, 
and  renewed  again  his  charges  about  the  coadjutrix. 
'Never  mind  her!'  he  cried,  'depend  upon  me!  I  will 
be  your  friend  as  long  as  I  live  ! — I  here  pledge  myself  to 
be  your  friend  !'  And  then  he  saluted  me  again  just  as 
at  the  meeting,  and  suffered  me  to  go  on. 

"  What  a  scene  !  how  variously  was  I  affected  by  it ! 
but,  upon  the  whole,  how  inexpressibly  thankful  to  see 
him  so  nearly  himself — so  little  removed  from  recovery  ! 

"  I  went  very  soon  after  to  the  Oueen,  to  whom  I  was 
most  eager  to  avow  the  meeting,  and  how  little  I  could 
help  it.  Her  astonishment,  and  her  earnestness  to  hear 
every  particular,  were  very  great.  I  told  her  almost  all. 
Some  few  things  relating  to  the  distressing  questions  I 
could  not  repeat;  nor  many  things  said  of  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg,  which  would  much,  and  very  needlessly,  have  hurt 
her." 

About  February  6,  a  further  improvement  in  the  King's 
state  took  place,  which  proved  to  be  decisive.  From  this 
time,  not  only  were  his  equerries  allowed  to  attend  him 
again    in    the    evening,   but  the   Queen  was   once    more 


246  The  Regency  Bill  postponed. 

admitted  to  his  chamber.  Singularly  enough,  the  progress 
of  his  recovery  coincided  exactly  with  the  progress  of  the 
Regency  Bill.  The  latter  was  brought  into  the  House  of 
Commons  on  the  5th,  and  on  the  following  day  a  printed 
copy  was  shown  to  Fanny.  "  I  shuddered,"  she  writes, 
"  to  hear  it  named.'"  On  the  loth  she  reports  :  "  The 
amendment  of  the  King  is  progressive,  and  without  any 
reasonable  fear,  though  not  without  some  few  drawbacks. 
The  Willis  family  were  surely  sent  by  Heaven  to  restore 
peace,  and  health,  and  prosperity  to  this  miserable  house!" 
On  the  i2th  the  Regency  Bill  passed  the  Commons,  and 
was  carried  up  to  the  House  of  Lords ;  it  was  there 
subsequently  read  a  second  time,  went  through  Com- 
mittee, and  was  ordered  for  a  third  reading.  But  that 
stage  was  not  to  arrive.  Miss  Burney  writes  on  the  13th  : 
"  Oh,  how  dreadful  will  be  the  day  when  that  unhapp}- 
Bill  takes  place  !  I  cannot  approve  the  plan  of  it  ;  the 
King  is  too  well  to  make  such  a  step  right.  It  will  break 
his  spirits,  if  not  his  heart,  when  he  hears  and  under- 
stands such  a  deposition. 

"  Saturday,  14TH. — The  King  is  infinitely  better.  Oh 
that  there  were  patience  in  the  land,  and  this  Regency 
Bill  postponed  !" 

Macaula}',  quoting  part  of  the  entry  for  the  13th,  leaves 
it  to  be  inferred  that  the  writer  disapproved  of  '  Pitt's 
own  Bill '  under  any  circumstances  ;  he  carefully  omits 
the  words  which  show  that  her  objection  was  to  the  plan 
being  proceeded  with  when  the  King's  recovery  was  so 
far  advanced  as  to  render  it  inapplicable.  The  Ministry 
speedily  made  it  plain  that  they  were  of  the  same  mind 
as  Miss  Burney.  On  the  17th,  the  Peers,  on  the  motion 
of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  adjourned  the  further  considera- 
tion of  the  Regency  Bill  ;  and  a  week  later  the  measure 
was  finally  abandoned. 


The  King  informs  Miss  Burney  of  his  Recovery,    247 

"  What  a  different  house,"  says  the  Diary  of  the 
igth,  "  is  this  house  become ! — sadness  and  terror,  that 
wholty  occupied  it  so  lately,  are  now  flown  away,  or 
rather  are  now  driven  out ;  and  though  anxiety  still 
forcibly  prevails,  "tis  in  so  small  a  proportion  to  joy  and 
thankfulness,  that  it  is  borne  as  if  scarce  an  ill  !"  Before 
the  month  ended.  Miss  Burney  had  an  assurance  of  the 
King's  entire  restoration  from  his  own  mouth.  "The 
King  I  have  seen  again — in  the  Queen's  dressing-room. 
On  opening  the  door,  there  he  stood !  He  smiled  at 
my  start ;  and,  sa3ing  he  had  waited  on  purpose  to  see 
me,  added,  'I  am  quite  well  now — I  was  nearly  so 
when  I  saw  you  before  ;  but  I  could  overtake  you  better 
now.'" 

All  England  had  been  intent  on  the  little  palace  at 
Kew,  where  distress  was  now  turned  into  rejoicing.  To 
none  of  his  subjects  was  the  recovery  of  the  royal  patient 
a  matter  of  indifference.  To  a  limited  party  it  was  a 
source  of  bitter  disappointment  and  chagrin.  To  the 
immense  majority  it  brought  unbounded  satisfaction.  It 
was  the  engrossing  topic  of  the  day.  '  Nobody,'  said  an 
observer,  '  talks,  writes,  thinks,  or  dreams  of  anything 
else.'  On  the  ist  of  March  thanksgivings  for  the  happy 
event  were  offered  in  all  the  churches  of  the  capital.  On 
the  loth  the  physicians  took  their  departure  from  Kew. 
On  the  same  day  Parliament  was  opened  by  Commission 
under  the  sign  manual.  At  sunset  began  a  spectacle 
worthy  of  the  occasion.  '  London,'  wrote  Wraxall,  '  dis- 
pla}-ed  a  blaze  of  light  from  one  extremity  to  the  other ; 
the  illuminations  extending,  without  any  metaphor,  from 
Hampstead  and  Highgate  to  Clapham,  and  even  as  far  as 
Tooting ;  whilst  the  vast  distance  between  Greenwich 
and  Kensington  presented  the  same  dazzling  appearance. 
The  poorest  mechanics  contributed  their  proportion,  and 


248  Demonstrations  of  Joy. 

instances  were  exhibited  of  cobblers'  stalls  decorated  with 
one  or  two  farthing  candles.^'" 

The  Queen  carried  all  the  Princesses,  except  the 
3'oungest,  up  to  town,  to  feast  their  eyes  on  streets  as 
brilliant  and  crowded  as  Vauxhall  on  a  gala  night.  It 
may  cool  our  historic  fervour  to  remember  that  the  blaze 
of  light  which  astonished  our  ancestors  was  produced  by 
nothing  more  luminous  than  oil-lamps,  and  that  the 
crowds  of  1789  would  pass  for  a  sorry  muster  in  the  huge 
Babylon  of  to-day;  but,  after  all,  the  scene  exhibited  in 
London,  when  even  the  cobblers'  stalls  were  illuminated, 
was  not  without  its  significance  on  the  eve  of  the  meeting 
of  the  States  General  at  Versailles,  Cowper,  usurping 
the  functions  of  Thomas  Warton,  then  poet-laureate,  sang 
of  Queen  Charlotte's  private  expedition  : 

'  Glad  she  came  that  night  to  prove, 
A  witness  undescried, 
How  much  the  object  of  her  love 
Was  loved  by  ai.l  beside.' 

Miss  Burne}-  describes  how  the  festive  evening  was 
spent  at  Kew.  The  Queen,  at  her  own  expense,  had 
arranged  for  an  illumination  of  the  palace  and  courtyard 
as  a  surprise  to  her  consort.  Biagio  Rebecca,  by  her 
order,  had  painted  a  grand  transparency,  displa}ing  re- 
presentations of  "  the  King,  Providence,  Health,  and 
Britannia,  with  elegant  devices.  When  this  was  lighted 
and  prepared,  the  Princess  Amelia  went  to  lead  her  papa 
to  the  front  window ;  but  first  she  dropped  on  her  knees, 
and  presented  him  a  paper,"  containing  some  congratu- 
latory verses  which,  at  the  Queen's  desire,  the  narrator 
"  had  scribbled  in  her  name  for  the  happy  occasion,"  and 
which  concluded  with  a  postscript : 

'  The  little  bearer  begs  a  kiss 
From  dear  papa  for  bringing  this.' 


Wraxall's  lV)>thunious  Memoirs,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  369,  370. 


Return  to  Windsor.  249 

"  I  need  not,  I  think,  tell  you,"  continues  Fanny,  "  that 
the  little  bearer  begged  not  in  vain.  The  King  was  ex- 
tremely pleased.  He  came  into  a  room  belonging  to  the 
Princesses,  in  which  we  had  a  party  to  look  at  the 
illuminations,  and  there  he  stayed  above  an  hour  :  cheer- 
ful, composed,  and  gracious ;  all  that  could  merit  the 
great  national  testimony  to  his  worth  this  day  paid  him." 
When  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  Queen  returned 
to  Kew,  she  found  the  King  standing  bare-headed  at  the 
porch,  ready  to  hand  her  from  the  coach,  and  eager  to 
assure  himself  of  her  safety.  So  far  from  being  dissatis- 
fied with  anything  that  she  had  done  during  his  illness, 
his  affection  for  her  was  confirmed  by  the  zeal  with  which 
she  had  watched  over  his  interests. 

On  the  14th  of  March  the  Court  left  Kew  for  Windsor. 
"  All  Windsor,"  says  the  Diary,  "  came  out  to  meet  the 
King.  It  was  a  joy  amounting  to  ecstasy.  I  could  not 
keep  my  eyes  dry  all  day  long.  A  scene  so  reversed ! 
Sadness  so  sweeth^  exchanged  for  thankfulness  and 
delight  !"  But  the  period  of  excitement  was  now  over. 
The  old  routine  of  duty  recommenced,  with  few  incidents 
to  relieve  its  monotony :  there  was  an  entertainment  or 
two  for  the  suite  in  the  royal  borough  to  celebrate  the 
restoration  ;  then  one  by  one  the  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances who  were  assembled  round  the  household  in  the 
early  days  of  March  dispersed  to  their  homes ;  no  society 
remained  at  the  Upper  Lodge  but  Cerbera  and  the 
gentlemen -in -waiting — who  did  not  include  Colonel 
Digby;  hardly  any  change  marked  the  succession  of  days, 
save  an  occasional  visit  to  Kew,  and  now  and  then  a 
journey  to  town  for  a  drawing-room.  In  the  Public 
Thanksgiving,  held  at  St.  Paul's  on  the  23rd  of  April, 
Fanny  appears  to  have  had  no  part,  though  she  received 
as  mementoes  of  the  occasion  a  medal  of  green  and  gold, 


250  Reaction. 

and  a  fan  ornamented  with  the  words  :  Health  restored  to 
one,  and  happiness  to  millions.  Once,  when  in  London,  she 
had  a  visit  from  Miss  Gunning,  who  called  to  inquire  after 
the  Queen's  health,  and  who  '  looked  serious,  sensible, 
interesting,'  though  she  said  but  little,  and  in  that  little 
managed  to  introduce  the  name  of  Mr.  Digby.  Degree 
by  degree,  Fanny's  spirits  sank  to  the  point  of  actual  de- 
spondency, till  she  writes,  'A  lassitude  of  existence  creeps 
sensibly  upon  me.'  A  fit  of  illness  did  not  assist  to 
restore  her  cheerfulness.  Thus  ended  March,  and  thus 
passed  April,  May,  and  the  greater  part  of  June.  The 
King  had  raised  some  alarm  by  declaring  his  intention  of 
going  to  Germany  in  the  summer,  but,  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  suite  in  general,  and  of  one  of  the  Queen's  Robe- 
Keepers  in  particular,  when  the  time  came,  the  physicians 
advised  a  stay  at  an  English  watering-place  in  prefer- 
ence. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Royal  Visit  to  Weymouth — Lyndhurst — Village  Loyalty— Arrival  at  Wey- 
mouth— Bathing  to  Music — Mrs.  Gwynn — Mrs.  Siddons — The  Royal  Party 
at  the  Rooms  —First  Sight  of  Mr.  Pitt — The  Marquis  of  Salisbury — Royal 
Tour — Visit  to  Longleat — Mrs.  Delany — Bishop  Ken — Tottenham  Park — 
Return  to  Windsor — Progress  of  the  French  Revolution — Colonel  Digby's 
Marriage — Miss  Barney's  Situation — A  Senator — Tax  on  Bachelors — Read- 
ing to  the  Queen— Miss  Burney's  Melancholy — Proposal  for  iier  Retirement 
— Her  Tedious  Solitude — Her  Literary  Inactivity — Her  Declining  Health — 
A  Friendly  Cabal — Windham  and  the  Literary  Club — James  Boswell — Miss 
Burney's  Memorial  to  the  Queen — Leave  of  Absence  Proposed— The  Queen 
and  Mrs.  Schwellenberg — Serious  lUness  of  Miss  Burney — Discussions  on 
her  Retirement — A  Day  at  the  Hastings  Trial — The  Defence — A  Lively 
Scene — The  Duke  of  Clarence-Parting  with  the  Royal  Family — Miss  Burney 
receives  a  Pension — Her  Pinal  Retirement. 

On  the  25th  of  June  the  Court  set  out  on  a  progress  from 
Windsor  to  Weymouth.  Miss  Burney  and  Miss  Planta,  as 
was  usual  on  these  occasions,  were  of  the  suite ;  the 
Schwellenberg,  as  usual,  remained  behind.  '  The  crowds 
increased  as  we  advanced,  and  at  Winchester  the  town 
was  one  head.''  At  Romsey,  on  the  steps  of  the  Town 
Hall,  a  band  of  musicians,  some  in  coarse  brown  coats 
and  red  neckcloths,  some  even  in  smock-frocks,  made  a 
chorus  of  '  God  save  the  King,'  in  which  a  throng  of 
spectators  joined  with  shouts  that  rent  the  air.  '  Carriages 
of  all  sorts  lined  the  roadside — chariots,  chaises,  landaus, 
carts,  waggons,  whiskies,  gigs,  phaetons — mi.xed  and  in- 
termixed, filled  withm  and  surrounded  without  by  faces  all 
glee  and  delight.'  On  the  verge  of  the  New  Forest  the 
King  was  met  by  a  party  of  foresters,  habited  in  green, 
with  bows  and  bugles,  who,  according  to  ancient  custom, 


252  Village  Loyally. 

presented  him  with  a  pair  of  milk-white  greyhounds, 
wearing  silver  collars,  and  led  by  silken  cords. 

Arrived  at  Lyndhurst,  he  drove  to  the  old  hunting-seat 
of  Charles  II.,  then  tenanted  by  the  Duke  of  Gloucester. 
"  It  is  a  straggling,  inconvenient  old  house,"  writes  Fanny, 
"but  delightfully  situated  in  a  village — looking,  indeed,  at 
present,  like  a  populous  town,  from  the  amazing  con- 
course of  people  that  have  crowded  into  it.  .  .  .  During 
the  King's  dinner,  which  was  in  a  parlour  looking  into  the 
garden,  he  permitted  the  people  to  come  to  the  window ; 
and  their  delight  and  rapture  in  seeing  their  monarch  at 
table,  with  the  evident  hungry  feeling  it  occasioned,  made 
a  contrast  of  admiration  and  deprivation  truly  comic. 
They  crowded,  however,  so  excessively,  that  this  can  be 
permitted  no  more.  They  broke  down  all  the  paling,  and 
much  of  the  hedges,  and  some  of  the  windows,  and  ail  by 
eagerness  and  multitude,  for  they  were  perfectly  civil  and 
well-behaved.  .  .  .  We  continued  at  Lyndhurst  five  days. 
.  .  .  On  the  Sunday  we  all  went  to  the  parish  church;  and 
after  the  service,  instead  of  a  psalm,  imagine  our  surprise 
to  hear  the  whole  congregation  jom  in  '  God  save  the 
King !'  Misplaced  as  this  was  in  a  church,  its  intent  was 
so  kind,  loyal,  and  affectionate,  that  I  believe  there  was 
not  a  dry  eye  amongst  either  singers  or  hearers." 

On  the  30th  of  June  the  royal  party  quitted  Lyndhurst, 
and  arrived  at  Weymouth  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
'  The  journey  was  one  scene  of  festivity  and  rejoicing.' 
The  change  of  air,  the  bustle  of  travelling,  the  beauty  of 
the  summer  landscapes,  the  loyalty  of  the  population,  had 
restored  Fanny's  tone,  and  brought  back  the  glow  she  had 
experienced  at  the  time  of  the  King's  convalescence.  Her 
enthusiasm  lent  a  touch  of  enchantment  to  everything 
she  saw.  Salisbury  and  Blandford  welcomed  their 
sovereign  with  displays  and  acclamations  that  fairly  carried 
her  away.     At  Dorchester  the  windows  and  roofs  of  the 


Bathing  to  Music.  253 

quaint  old  houses  seemed  packed  with  eager  faces. 
*  Girls,  with  chaplets,  beautiful  young  creatures,  strewed 
the  entrance  of  various  villages  with  flowers.' 

Nor  were  the  good  people  of  Weymouth  and  Mel- 
comb  Regis  a  whit  behind  in  loyalty,  though  greatly  at  a 
loss  how  to  vary  the  expression  of  their  feelings.  "  Not 
a  child  could  we  meet  that  had  not  a  bandeau  round 
its  'head,  cap  or  hat,  of  '  God  save  the  King ' ;  all  the 
bargemen  wore  it  in  cockades ;  and  even  the  bathing- 
women  had  it  in  large  coarse  girdles  round  their  waists. 
It  is  printed  in  golden  letters  upon  most  of  the  bathing- 
machines,  and  in  various  scrolls  and  devices  it  adorns 
every  shop,  and  almost  every  house,  in  the  two  towns 
....  Nor  is  this  all.  Think  but  of  the  surprise  of  his 
Majesty  when,  the  first  time  of  his  bathing,  he  had  no 
sooner  popped  his  royal  head  under  water  than  a  band 
of  music,  concealed  in  a  neighbouring  machine,  struck 
up,  '  God  save  great  George  our  King '  !  One  thing, 
however,  was  a  little  unlucky : — When  the  mayor  and 
burgesses  came  with  the  address,  they  requested  leave 
to  kiss  hands.  This  was  graciously  accorded ;  but  the 
mayor  advancing  in  a  common  way,  to  take  the  Queen's 
hand,  as  he  might  that  of  any  lady  mayoress.  Colonel 
Gwynn,  who  stood  by,  whispered  : 

*'  '  You  must  kneel,  sir.' 

"  He  found,  however,  that  he  took  no  notice  of  this 
hint,  but  kissed  the  Queen's  hand  erect.  As  he  passed 
him,  in  his  way  back,  the  Colonel  said : 

"  '  You  should  have  knelt,  sir  !' 

"  '  Sir,'  answered  the  poor  Mayor,  '  I  cannot.' 

"  '  Everybody  does,  sir.' 

"  '  Sir, — I  have  a  wooden  leg  !' 

"  But  the  absurdity  of  the  matter  followed — all  the  rest 
did  the  same  ;  taking  the  same  privilege,  by  the  example, 
without  the  same  or  any  cause  !" 


254  Mrs.   Gwyjin. 

Miss  Burney's  way  of  life  at  Weymouth  seems  to  have 
been  much  the  same  as  if  she  had  belonged  to  a  private 
party.  "  I  have  here  a  very  good  parlour,  but  dull  from  its 
aspect.  Nothing  but  the  sea  at  Weymouth  affords  any 
life  or  spirit.  My  bedroom  is  in  the  attics.  Nothing  like 
living  at  a  Court  for  exaltation.  Yet  even  with  this  grati- 
fication, which  extends  to  Miss  Planta,  the  house  will 
only  hold  the  females  of  the  party  ....  It  is  my  inten- 
tion to  cast  away  all  superfluous  complaints  into  the  main 
ocean,  which  I  think  quite  sufficiently  capacious  to  hold 
them ;  and  really  my  little  frame  will  find  enough  to  carry 
and  manage  without  them  ....  His  Majesty  is  in  delight- 
ful health,  and  much  improved  in  spirits.  All  agree  he 
never  looked  better  ....  The  Queen  is  reading  Mrs. 
Piozzi's  '  Tour '  to  me,  instead  of  my  reading  it  to  her. 
She  loves  reading  aloud,  and  in  this  work  finds  me  an 
able  commentator.  How  like  herself,  how  characteristic 
is  every  line  ! — Wild,  entertaining,  flighty,  inconsistent, 
and  clever  !"  As  at  Cheltenham,  much  of  the  stiffness  of 
Windsor  etiquette  was  thrown  aside.  The  King  and  his 
family  spent  most  of  their  time  in  walking  or  riding,  and 
the  Queen  required  but  little  attendance.  Now  and  again 
the  royal  party  varied  the  usual  amusements  of  a  watering- 
place  by  a  visit  to  the  Magnificent  line-of-battle  ship, 
stationed  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay,  by  a  cruise  in  the 
Southampton  frigate,  which  lay  further  in,  or  by  an  excur- 
sion to  Dorchester,  Lulworth  Castle,  or  Sherborne  Castle. 
During  these  intervals,  the  Robe  Keeper  was  left  to  her 
own  occupations.  She  passed  much  of  her  leisure  with 
the  wife  of  the  equerry,  Mrs.  Gwynn,  Goldsmith's 
*  Jessamy  Bride,'  who  had  many  stories  to  tell  of  her  old 
admirer,*  and  could  exchange  anecdotes  with  Fanny  of 

*  "His  coffin  was  re-opened  at  the  request  of  the  Jessamy  Bride,  that  a  lock 
might  be  cut  frf)m  his  hair.  It  was  in  Mrs.  Gwynn's  possession  when  she  ilied, 
after  nearly  seventy  years." — Forster's  "  Goldsmith." 


Mrs.  Siddons. 


^o:> 


Johnson,  Baretti,  the  Thrales,  Sir  Joshua  and  his  nieces. 
Strolhng  with  this  acquaintance  one  morning  on  the 
sands,  Miss  Burney  "  overtook  a  lady  of  very  majestic 
port  and  demeanour,  who  solemnly  returned  Mrs.  Gwynn's 
salutation,  and  then  addressed  herself  to  me  with  similar 
gravit}-.  I  saw  a  face  I  knew,  and  of  very  uncommon 
beauty,  but  did  not  immediately  recollect  it  was  Mrs. 
Siddons.  Her  husband  was  with  her,  and  a  sweet  child. 
I  wished  to  have  tried  if  her  solemnity  would  have  worn 
away  by  length  of  conversation  :  but  I  was  obliged  to 
hasten  home." 

The  great  actress,  as  she  told  Fanny,  had  come  to 
Weymouth  solely  for  her  health  ;  but  she  could  not  resist 
the  royal  command  to  appear  at  the  little  theatre,  where 
Mrs.  Wells  and  Quick  were  already  performing.  "  The 
King,"  says  the  Diary,  "  has  taken  the  centre  front  box 
for  himself,  and  family,  and  attendants.  The  side  boxes 
are  too  small.  The  Queen  ordered  places  for  Miss 
Planta  and  me,  which  are  in  the  front  row  of  a  box  next 
but  one  to  the  royals.  Thus,  in  this  case,  our  want  of 
rank  to  be  in  their  public  suite  gives  us  better  seats  than 
those  high  enough  to  stand  behind  them  ! 

"July  2gTH. — We  went  to  the  play,  and  saw  Mrs. 
Siddons  in  Rosalind.  She  looked  beautifully,  but  too 
large  for  that  shepherd's  dress  ;  and  her  gaiety  sits  not 
naturally  upon  her — it  seems  more  like  disguised  gravity. 
I  must  own  my  admiration  for  her  confined  to  her  tragic 
powers  ;  and  there  it  is  raised  so  high  that  I  feel  morti- 
fied, in  a  degree,  to  see  her  so  much  fainter  attempts  and 
success  in  comedy." 

A  few  days  later  we  read  that  Mrs.  Siddons,  as  Lady 
Townly,  in  her  looks  and  the  tragic  part  was  exquisite  ; 
and  again  :  "  Mrs.  Siddons  performed  Mrs.  Oakley. 
What  pitv  thus  to   throw  awav  her  talents  !     But  the 


256  Royal  Tour. 

Queen  dislikes  tragedy  ;  and  the  honour  to  play  before 
the  Royal  Family  binds  her  to  the  little  credit  acquired 
by  playing  comedy. 

"  Sunday,  August  qth. — The  King  had  a  council 
yesterday,  which  brought  most  of  the  great  officers  of  State 
to  "Weymouth.  This  evening  her  Majesty  desired  Miss 
Planta  and  me  to  go  to  the  rooms,  whither  they  com- 
monly go  themselves  on  Sunday  evenings  ;  and  after 
looking  round  them,  and  speaking  where  they  choose, 
they  retire  to  tea  in  an  inner  apartment  with  their  own 
party,  but  leave  the  door  open,  both  to  see  and  be  seen. 
The  rooms  are  convenient  and  spacious :  we  found  them 
very  full.  As  soon  as  the  rojal  party  came,  a  circle  was 
formed,  and  they  moved  round  it,  just  as  before  the  ball 
at  St.  James's,  the  King  one  way,  with  his  Chamberlain, 
the  new-made  Marquis  of  Salisbury,*  and  the  Queen 
the  other,  with  the  Princesses,  Lady  Courtown,  etc.  The 
rest  of  the  attendants  planted  themselves  round  in  the 
circle.  I  had  now  the  pleasure,  for  the  first  time,  to  see 
Mr.  Pitt ;  but  his  appearance  is  his  least  recommendation  ; 
it  is  neither  noble  nor  expressive." 

Three  days  later  occurs  a  significant  entry  : 
"  Wednesday,  August  i2TH. — This  is  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  birthday  ;  but  it  has  not  been  kept." 

On  the  13th  the  royal  party  left  Weymouth  for  Exeter, 
where  they  arrived  to  a  late  dinner.  Two  days  afterwards 
they  proceeded  through  a  fertile  and  varied  country  to 
Saltram,  the  seat  of  Earl  Morley,  a  minor.  All  along  the 
route,  the  enthusiasm  of  loyalty  which  had  accompanied 
the  King  from  Windsor  continued  undiminished.  Arches 
of  flowers  were  erected  at  every  town,  with  such  devices 
as  rustic  ingenuity  could  imagine,  to  express  the  welcome 

*  James,  seventh  Earl  of  Salisbury,  was  advanced  in  August,  17S9,  to  the 
title  of  Marquis. 


Visit  to  Long/eat.  257 

of  the  inhabitants.  Everywhere  there  were  crowds,  cheers, 
singing,  peals  of  bells,  rejoicings,  garlands,  and  decorations. 
The  view  from  Saltram  commanded  Plymouth  Sound, 
Mount  Edgecombe,  arid  a  wide  stretch  of  the  fine  adja- 
cent country.  Visits  were  made  from  this  noble  house  to 
the  great  naval  port,  to  the  beauties  of  the  famous 
Mount,  to  the  woods  and  steeps  of  Maristow,  and  the 
antique  curiosities  of  Cothele  on  the  banks  of  the  Tamar. 
On  the  27th  the  Court  quitted  Saltram  for  Weymouth, 
and  in  the  middle  of  September  finally  departed  from 
Weymouth  on  its  return  to  Windsor.  Two  nights  and 
the  intervening  day  were  spent  at  Longleat,  the  seat  of 
the  Marquis  of  Bath.  "  Longleat,"  writes  Miss  Burney, 
"  was  formerly  the  dwelling  of  Lord  Lansdowne,  uncle  to 
Mrs.  Delany  ;  and  here,  at  this  seat,  that  heartless  uncle, 
to  promote  some  political  views,  sacrificed  his  incom- 
parable niece,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  marrying  her  to  an 
unwieldy,  uncultivated  country  esquire,  near  sixty  years 
of  age,  and  scarce  ever  sober — his  name  Pendarves. 
With  how  sad  an  awe,  in  recollecting  her  submissive 
unhappiness,  did  I  enter  these  doors  ! — and  with  what 
indignant  hatred  did  I  look  at  the  portrait  of  the  unfeeling 
Earl,  to  whom  her  gentle  repugnance,  shown  by  almost 
incessant  tears,  was  thrown  away,  as  if  she,  her  person, 
and  her  existence,  were  nothing  in  the  scale,  where  the 
disposition  of  a  few  boroughs  opposed  them  !  Yet  was 
this  the  famous  Granville — the  poet,  the  fine  gentleman, 
the  statesman,  the  friend  and  patron  of  Pope,  of  whom 
he  wrote  : 

'  What  Muse  for  Granville  can  refuse  to  sing  ?' 

Mine,  I  am  sure,  for  one." 

The  house,  at  the  time  of  this  visit,  though  magni- 
ficent, and  of  an  immense  magnitude,  was  very  much  out 
of   repair,   and    by    no    means    cheerful    or   comfortable. 

17 


258  Return  to   Windsor. 

Gloomy  grandeur,  Fanny  thought,  was  the  character  ot 
the  building  and  its  fitting- up.  "  My  bedroom,"  she  says, 
"  was  furnished  with  crimson  velvet,  bed  included,  yet  so 
high,  though  only  the  second  story,  that  it  made  me 
giddy  to  look  into  the  park,  and  tired  to  wind  up  the 
flight  of  stairs.  It  was  formerly  the  favourite  room,  the 
housekeeper  told  me,  of  Bishop  Ken,  who  put  on  his 
shroud  in  it  before  he  died.  Had  I  fancied  I  had  seen 
his  ghost,  I  might  have  screamed  my  voice  away,  un- 
heard by  any  assistant  to  lay  it ;  for  so  far  was  I  from  the 
rest  of  the  mansion,  that  not  the  lungs  of  Mr.  Bruce 
could  have  availed  me."  The  last  place  at  which  the 
King  stopped  on  his  homeward  journey  was  Tottenham 
Park,  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Ailesbury.  Here  occurred 
an  instance  of  the  enormous  expense  to  which  the  great 
nobles  sometimes  went  in  entertaining  their  sovereign. 
'  The  good  lord  of  the  mansion  put  up  a  new  bed  for  the 
King  and  Queen  that  cost  him  ^^900.' 

On  September  18  the  Court  arrived  at  Windsor. 
■*  Deadly  dead  sank  my  heart '  is  our  traveller's  record  of 
her  sensation  on  re-entering  the  detested  dining-room. 
Nothing  happened  during  the  remainder  of  the  year  to 
raise  her  spirits.  In  October,  the  days  began  to  remind 
her  of  the  terrible  miseries  of  the  preceding  autumn. 
She  found  '  a  sort  of  recollective  melancholy  always 
ready  to  mix  '  with  her  thankfulness  for  the  King's 
continued  good  health.  And  about  the  same  time  dis- 
quieting news  came  from  over  the  water  of  the  march  to 
Versailles,  the  return  to  Paris,  and  the  shouts  of  the 
hungry  and  furious  poissardcs  proclaiming  the  arrival  of 
'  the  baker,  his  wife,  and  the  little  apprentice.'  Events 
of  this  kind  could  not  but  excite  uneasiness  at  any  Court, 
however  popular  for  the  time.  These  shadows  were 
presently  succeeded  by  another,  equally  undefined,  but  of 


Miss  Burney  s  Situation.  259 

a  more  personal  character.  In  the  middle  of  November, 
Fanny  was  told  by  Miss  Planta,  in  confidence,  that  Mr. 
Digby  had  written  to  acquaint  his  royal  patrons  with  his 
approaching  marriage.  '  I  believed  not  a  syllable  of  the 
matter,'  says  the  Diary  ;  '  but  I  would  not  tell  her  that.' 
Only  a  few  days  later,  however,  the  same  kind  friend 
informed  Miss  Burney  that  '  it  was  all  declared,  and  that 
the  Princesses  had  wished  Miss  Gunning  joy  at  the 
Drawing- Room.'  '  Now  first,'  says  Fanny,  '  my  belief 
follov/ed  assertion  ;  —  but  it  was  only  because  it  was 
inevitable,  since  the  Princesses  could  not  have  proceeded 
so  far  without  certainty.'  The  wedding  took  place  early 
in  January;  and  from  this  time  the  bridegroom  appeared 
no  more  at  Court,  which  became  to  one  of  the  attendants 
an  abode  of  unrelieved  gloom. 

Some  of  her  friends  were  frank  enough  in  their  com- 
ments on  her  situation.  There  was  something,  no  doubt, 
in  Miss  Burney's  aspect  which  drew  such  remarks  as 
these  from  the  wife  of  an  Irish  bishop  :  "  Well ;  the 
Queen,  to  be  sure,  is  a  great  deal  better  dressed  than  she 
used  to  be  ;  but  for  all  that,  I  really  think  it  is  but  an  odd 
thing  for  you  ! — Dear,  I  think  it's  something  so  out  of  the 
way  for  you  ! — I  can't  think  how  you  set  about  it.  It 
must  have  been  very  droll  to  you  at  first.  A  great  deal 
of  honour,  to  be  sure,  to  serve  a  Queen,  and  all  that;  but, 
I  dare  say  a  lady's-maid  could  do  it  better  ....  It  must 
be  a  mighty  hurry-scurry  life !  You  don't  look  at  all 
fit  for  it,  to  judge  by  appearances,  for  all  its  great  honour, 
and  all  that."  Colonel  Digby  had  previously  accused  her 
of  being  absent  in  her  official  occupation,  and  she  had 
owned  that  she  had  at  first  found  attention  unattainable. 
''She  had  even,"  she  added,  "and  not  seldom,  handed 
the  Queen  her  fan  before  her  gown,  and  her  gloves  before 
her  cap  !"    The  Vice-Chamberlain  thought  this  very  likely, 

17—2 


26o  A   Senator'. 

and   observed  that  such  matters  did  not  seem  trifles  to 
her  Majesty. 

The  Diary  for  the  earher  months  of  1790  contains  Httle 
more  than  what  the  writer  calls  Moose  scraps  of  anec- 
dotes,' of  which  we  can  find  room  for  only  one  or  two 
specimens.  Here  is  an  account  of  a  conversation  with 
Colonel  Manners,  who,  besides  being  an  equerry,  was 
also  a  Member  of  Parliament  : 

"  I  had  been  informed  he  had  once  made  an  attempt  to 
speak,  during  the  Regency  business,  last  winter ;  I  begged 
to  know  how  the  matter  stood,  and  he  made  a  most  frank 
display  of  its  whole  circumstances. 

** '  Why,  they  were  speaking  away,'  he  cried,  *  upon 
the  Regency,  and  so — and  they  were  saying  the  King 
could  not  reign,  and  recover  ;  and  Burke  was  making 
some  of  his  eloquence,  and  talking  ;  and,  says  he,  '  hurled 
from  his  throne ' — and  so  I  put  out  my  finger  in  this 
manner,  as  if  I  was  in  a  great  passion,  for  I  felt  myself 
very  red,  and  I  was  in  a  monstrous  passion  I  suppose, 
but  I  was  only  going  to  say  '  Hear  !  Hear !'  but  I 
happened  to  lean  one  hand  down  upon  my  knee,  in  this 
way,  just  as  Mr.  Pitt  does  when  he  wants  to  speak  ;  and 
I  stooped  forward,  just  as  if  I  was  going  to  rise  up  and 
begin;  but  just  then  I  caught  Mr.  Pitt's  eye,  looking  at 
me  so  pitifull}  ;  he  thought  I  was  going  to  speak,  and  he 
was  frightened  to  death,  for  he  thought — for  the  thing 
was,  he  got  up  himself,  and  he  said  over  all  I  wanted  to 
say;  and  the  thing  is,  he  almost  always  does;  for  just  as 
I  have  something  particular  to  say,  Mr.  Pitt  begins,  and 
goes  through  it  all,  so  that  he  don't  leave  anything  more 
to  be  said  about  it  ;  and  so  I  suppose,  as  he  looked  at  me 
so  pitifully,  he  thought  I  should  say  it  first,  or  else  that  I 
should  get  into  some  scrape,  because  I  was  so  warm  and 
looking  so  red.' 


Tax  on  Bachelors.  261 

"Any  comment  would  disgrace  this;  I  will  therefore 
only  tell  you  his  opinion,  in  his  own  words,  of  one  of  our 
late  taxes.* 

"'There's  only  one  tax,  ma'am,  that  ever  I  voted  for 
against  my  conscience,  for  I've  always  been  very  particular 
about  that ;  but  that  is  the  hacheldors  tax,  and  that  I  hold 
to  be  very  unconstitutional,  and  I  am  very  sorry  I  voted 
for  it,  because  it's  very  unfair  ;  for  how  can  a  man  help 
being  a  bachcldor,  if  nobody  will  have  him  ?  and,  besides, 
it's  not  any  fault  to  be  taxed  for,  because  we  did  not 
make  ourselves  hacheldors,  for  we  were  made  so  by  God, 
for  nobody  was  born  married,  and  so  I  think  it's  a  very 
unconstitutional  tax.'  " 

Miss  Burney's  desultory  journals  for  this  year  contain 
few  notices  of  her  life  at  Court.  We  hear,  indeed,  in  the 
spring,  of  her  being  summoned  to  a  new  employment, 
and  called  upon  four  or  five  times  to  read  a  play  before 
the  Queen  and  Princesses.  But  this  proved  a  very  occa- 
sional break  in  the  routine  of  drudgery  which  she  could 
no  longer  support  with  cheerfulness.  Henceforth  she 
seems  to  avoid  all  mention  of  other  engagements  and 
incidents  at  Windsor  or  Kew  as  matters  too  wearisome 
to  think  of  or  write  about.  We  have,  instead,  accounts 
of  days  spent  at  the  Hastings  trial,  where,  as  before,  she 
spent  much  time  in  conversing  with  Windham,  The 
charges  were  now  being  investigated  in  detail,  and  it  was 
often  difficult  to  make  up  an  interesting  report  for  her 
mistress.  Sometimes,  however,  when  evidence  weighed 
the  proceedings  down,  Burke  would  speak  from  time  to 
time,  and  lift  them  up  ;  or  Windham  himself,  much  to 
Fanny's  satisfaction,  would  take  part  in  the  arguments. 

*  In   1785,  Mr.  Pitt  introduced  an  increase  in  the  tax  paid  on  men-servants, 
when  they  were  kept  by  bachelors. 


262  Miss  Burneys  Mela7icholy. 

But  \\'estminster  Hall  was  attractive  mainly  by  contrast 
to  the  palace  :  in  the  Great  Chamberlain's  Box  there  was 
no  danger  of  receiving  a  summons  to  the  Queen,  no  fear 
of  being  late  for  an  attendance  in  the  royal  dressing- 
room.  During  the  recess,  when  there  was  no  trial  to 
attend,  Miss  Burney's  thoughts  were  a  good  deal  occupied 
b}'  the  illness  and  death  of  a  faithful  man-servant,  and 
with  the  subsequent  disposal  of  his  savings,  which  caused 
her  some  trouble. 

Once,  at  the  end  of  Ma}',  she  had  an  opportunity  of 
unburdening  her  mind  to  her  father.  They  met  in 
Westminster  Abbey  at  one  of  the  many  commemorations 
of  Handel  which  occurred  about  this  time  ;  and,  neither 
of  them  caring  very  much  for  the  great  master's  music, 
they  spent  three  hours  chiefly  in  conversation.  For  four 
years  they  had  not  been  so  long  alone  together.  Dr. 
Burney  happened  to  mention  that  some  of  the  French 
exiles  wished  him  to  make  them  acquainted  with  the 
author  of  '  Cecilia,'  and  repeated  the  astonished  speech 
of  the  Comtesse  de  Boufflers  on  learning  that  this  was  out 
of  his  power:  '  Mais,  monsieur,  est-ce  possible!  Made- 
moiselle votre  fille  n'a-t-elle  point  de  vacances  ?'  Such  an 
opening  was  just  what  Fanny  wanted,  and  she  availed 
herself  of  it  to  pour  out  her  whole  heart.  With  many 
expressions  of  gratitude  for  the  Queen's  goodness,  she 
owned  that  her  way  of  life  was  distasteful  to  her ;  she 
was  lost  to  all  private  comfort,  dead  to  all  domestic 
endearment,  worn  with  want  of  rest  and  laborious 
attendance.  Separated  from  her  relations,  her  friends, 
and  the  society  she  loved,  she  brooded  over  the  past  with 
hopeless  regret,  and  lived  like  one  who  had  no  natural 
connections.  "  Melancholy  was  the  existence,  where 
happiness  was  excluded,  though  not  a  complaint  could 
be    made !    where   the    illustrious   personages   who  were 


Her   Tedious  Solitude.  265 

served  possessed  almost  all  human  excellence — yet  where 
those  who  were  their  servants,  though  treated  with  the 
most  benevolent  condescension,  could  never,  in  any  part 
of  the  live-long  day,  command  liberty,  or  social  inter- 
course, or  repose  !"  "The  silence  of  my  dearest  father," 
she  adds,  "  now  silencing  myself,  I  turned  to  look  at  him  ; 
but  how  was  I  struck  to  see  his  honoured  head  bowed 
down  almost  into  his  bosom  with  dejection  and  dis- 
comfort !  We  were  both  perfectly  still  a  few  moments  ; 
but  when  he  raised  his  head  I  could  hardly  keep  my  seat 
to  see  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  !  '  I  have  long,'  he  cried, 
'  been  uneasy,  though  I  have  not  spoken  ;  .  .  .  .  but  .... 
if  you  wish  to  resign — my  house,  my  purse,  my  arms, 
shall  be  open  to  receive  you  back  !'  " 

It  cannot  fairly  be  said  that,  during  the  preceding  four 
years.  Miss  Burney  had  been  debarred  from  literary  work. 
The  conditions  of  her  lot  were  hard,  and  it  may  have 
been  one  of  them  that  she  should  publish  nothing  while 
in  the  Queen's  service  ;  but  she  certainly  had  enjoyed 
considerable  leisure  for  composition.  Witness  the  full 
and  carefully-written  journal  which  she  had  kept  during 
the  greater  part  of  her  tenure  of  office.  Perhaps  the 
frequent  interruptions  to  which  she  was  liable  hmdered 
her  from  concentrating  her  thoughts  on  the  production  of 
a  regular  narrative.  Indefatigable  as  she  was  with  her 
pen,  we  can  see  that  she  was  far  less  strenuous  when 
much  intellectual  exertion  was  required.  When  she  was 
oifered  her  post,  her  Muse  was  at  a  standstill,  as  she  told 
the  King ;  and  since  she  entered  the  household,  she  had 
written  nothing  capable  of  being  printed,  except  two  or 
three  small  copies  of  verses  not  worth  printing,  and  the 
rough  draft  of  a  tragedy.  She  had  begun  this  tragedy 
during  the  King's  illness,  in  order  to  distract  her  atten- 
tion ;    and  after  laying  it  aside  for  sixteen  months,  she 


264  Htr  Literary  Inactivity. 

resumed  her  task  in  the  spring  of  1790,  and  com- 
pleted the  play  in  August.  Well  or  ill  done,  she 
was  pleased,  she  told  her  sisters,  to  have  done  some- 
thing '  at  last — she  who  had  so  long  lived  in  all  ways 
as  nothing.'  In  the  early  part  of  this  year  the  news- 
papers announced,  as  they  had  done  several  times  before, 
that  the  distinguished  novelist,  who  had  so  long  been 
silent,  had  at  length  finished  a  new  tale  ready  for  the 
press.  As  often  as  this  rumour  appeared,  a  flutter  of 
apprehension  ran  through  the  ante-rooms  of  the  Upper 
and  Lower  Lodges.  Fanny's  genius  for  seizing  the  points 
of  a  character,  and  presenting  them  in  a  ludicrous  light, 
could  not  fail  to  be  recognised  wherever  she  went.  Years 
before,  the  fiery  Baretti  had  warned  her  that  if  she  dared 
to  put  him  in  a  book,  she  should  feel  the  effects  of  an 
Italian's  vengeance.*  Joseph  Baretti,  who  had  stiiettoed 
his  man,  and  who  lived  to  libel  Mrs.  Piozzi,  was  the  very 
person  to  fulfil  a  promise  of  this  kind.  But  for  his  threat, 
his  tempting  eccentricities  might  have  exposed  him  to 
considerable  peril.  But  the  carpet-knights  and  waiting- 
women  of  Windsor  stood  in  no  immediate  danger. 
*  There  is  a  new  book  coming  out,  and  we  shall  all  be  in 
it!'  exclaimed  the  conscience -stricken  Mr.  Turbulent. 
The  colonels  frowned,  bit  their  lips,  and  tried  not  to  look 
uncomfortable.  '  Well,  anybody's  welcome  to  me  and 
my  character!'  cried  poor  Miss  Planta,  whom  Fanny  used 
to  patronize.  '  Never  mind  !  she's  very  humane  !'  ob- 
served one  of  the  Willises,  well  aware  that,  whoever  else 
might  suffer,  he  and  his  family  were  exempt  from  ridicule. 
Miss  Burney  smiled  demurely  at  the  tributes  paid  to  her 
power.  Full  well  she  knew  that,  so  far  as  the  characters 
of  her  colleagues  were  worth  preserving,  she  had  them  all 

*  Diary,  vol.  ii.,  p.  581. 


Her  Declining  Health.  265 

safe,  under  lock  and  key,  in  her  Diary.  But  not  a  line  of 
the  dreaded  novel  had  been  written.  The  passion,  which 
possessed  her  in  her  early  days,  for  planning  a  story,  and 
contriving  situations  for  the  actors  in  it,  had  faded  away 
as  the  freshness  of  youth  departed. 

The  months  rolled  on,  and  her  spirits  did  not  improve, 
while  her  health  steadily  declined.  Some  of  her  female 
friends — Mrs.  Gwynn,  Miss  Cambridge,  Mrs.  Ord— saw 
her  at  Windsor  or  Kew  after  the  close  of  the  London 
season,  and  were  painfully  impressed  with  the  alteration 
which  they  noted  in  her.  The  reports  which  these  ladies 
carried  up  to  town  were  speedily  known  throughout  her 
father's  circle  of  acquaintances.  The  discontent  that 
had  been  felt  at  her  seclusion  increased  tenfold  when  it 
was  suspected  that  there  was  danger  of  the  prisoner's 
constitution  giving  way.  A  sort  of  cabal  was  formed  to 
bring  influence  to  bear  upon  Dr.  Burney.  The  lead  in 
this  seems  to  have  been  taken  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
who,  despite  his  failing  eyesight  and  his  Academic 
troubles,  was  zealous  as  ever  in  the  cause  of  his  old 
favourite.  Dr.  Burney  had  yielded  to  Fanny's  wish  of 
retiring  ;  but  he  was  not  in  affluent  circumstances,  he 
had  expected  great  things  from  the  Court  appointment, 
his  daughter  had  not  much  worldly  wisdom,  and  in 
dread  of  the  censure  that  awaited  him  in  high  quarters, 
if  he  suffered  her  to  throw  away  a  competency  without 
visible  necessity,  he  was  for  putting  off  the  evil  day  of 
resignation  as  long  as  possible.  It  was  therefore  im- 
portant that  friends  whose  approbation  he  valued  should 
unite  to  make  him  understand  that  the  case,  in  their 
judgment,  called  for  prompt  determination.  He  was 
much  worked  upon  in  the  autumn  by  a  letter  from  Horace 
Walpole  to  Frances,  in  which  the  writer,  with  a  touch  of 
heartiness  quite  unusual  to  him,  lamented  her  confine- 


266  Windham  and  the  Literacy  Club. 

ment  to  a  closet  at  Court,  and  asked  whether  her  talents 
were  given  to  be  buried  in  obscurity  ?  About  the  same 
time,  he  was  warned  by  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Francis,  that 
Windham,  her  neighbour  in  Norfolk,  who  had  observed 
for  himself  the  change  in  Fanny's  appearance,  was 
meditating  an  attack  on  him  as  soon  as  they  should  meet 
in  town.  The  politician  had  already  sounded  Burney  to 
little  purpose  ;  '  it  is  resolution,'  he  told  Charlotte,  '  not 
inclination,  the  Doctor  wants.'  '  I  will  set  the  Literary 
Club  upon  him  !'  he  cried.  '  Miss  Burney  has  some  very 
true  friends  there,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  all  eagerly 
assist.     We  will  present  him  an  address.' 

The  general  feeling  infected  James  Boswell,  though  not 
very  intimate  with  the  Burney  family.  In  this  same 
autumn,  Boswell  was  on  a  visit  to  the  Dean  of  Windsor, 
who  was  also  Bishop  of  Carlisle.  Miss  Burne}-  met  him 
one  morning  at  the  choir-gate  of  St.  George's  Chapel  : 

"  We  saluted  with  mutual  glee  :  his  comic-serious  face 
and  manner  have  lost  nothing  of  their  wonted  singularity; 
nor  yet  have  his  mind  and  language,  as  you  will  soon 
confess. 

"  '  I  am  extremely  glad  to  see  you  indeed,'  he  cried, 
'  but  very  sorry  to  see  you  here.  My  dear  ma'am,  why 
do  you  stay? — it  won't  do,  ma'am!  you  must  resign!  — 
we  can  put  up  with  it  no  longer.  I  told  my  good  host 
the  Bishop  so  last  night ;  we  are  all  grown  quite  out- 
rageous !'  Whether  I  laughed  the  most,  or  stared  the 
most,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  say ;  but  I  hurried  awa)^  not  to 
have  such  treasonable  declarations  overheard,  for  we  were 
surrounded  by  a  multitude.  He  accompanied  me,  how- 
ever, not  losing  one  moment  in  continuing  his  exhorta- 
tions :  '  If  you  do  not  quit,  ma'am,  very  soon,  some 
violent  measures,  I  assure  you,  will  be  taken.     We  shall 


James  Boswell.  267 

address  Dr.  Burney  in  a  body ;   I  am  ready  to  make  the 
harangue  myself.     We  shall  fall  upon  him  all  at  once.' 

"  I  stopped  him  to  inquire  about  Sir  Joshua ;  he  said 
he  saw  him  very  often,  and  that  his  spirits  were  very 
good.  I  asked  about  Mr.  Burke's  book.  '  Oh,'  cried 
he,  '  it  will  come  out  next  week  :  'tis  the  first  book  in 
the  world,  except  my  own,  and  that's  coming  out  also 
very  soon;  only  I  want  your  help.'  '  M}- help  ?'  'Yes, 
madam ;  you  must  give  me  some  of  }'our  choice  little 
notes  of  the  Doctor's ;  we  have  seen  him  long  enough 
upon  stilts ;  I  want  to  show  him  in  a  new  light.  Grave 
Sam,  and  great  Sam,  and  solemn  Sam,  and  learned  Sam 
— all  these  he  has  appeared  over  and  over.  Now  I  want 
to  entwine  a  wreath  of  the  graces  across  his  brow ;  I 
want  to  show  him  as  gay  Sam,  agreeable  Sam,  pleasant 
Sam  :  so  you  must  help  me  with  som.e  of  his  beautiful 
billets  to  yourself.'  " 

Fanny  evaded  this  request  b}-  declaring  that  she  had 
not  any  stores  at  hand  ;  she  could  not,  she  afterwards 
said,  consent  to  print  private  letters  addressed  to  herself. 
The  self-satisfied  biographer  followed  her  to  the  Queen's 
Lodge,  continuing  his  importunit}',  and  repeating  his 
exhortations  to  her  to  resign  at  once.  At  the  entrance, 
he  pulled  out  a  proof-sheet  of  the  First  Book  in  the 
world,  and  began  to  read  from  it  a  letter  of  Dr.  Johnson 
to  himself.  '  He  read  it,'  says  the  Diary,  '  in  strong 
imitation  of  the  Doctor's  manner,  very  well,  and  not 
caricature.  But  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  was  at  her  window, 
a  crowd  was  gathering  to  stand  round  the  rails,  and  the 
King  and  Queen  and  Royal  Family  now  approached  from 
the  Terrace.  I  made  rather  a  quick  apology,  and  with  a 
step  as  quick  as  my  now  weakened  limbs  have  left  in  my 
power,  I  hurried  to  xny  apartment.' 


268  A  Memorial  to  the  Queen. 

By  what  representations  Dr.  Burney  was  brought  to 
view  his  daughter's  condition  in  its  true  hght  we  are 
not  distinctly  informed.  We  find,  however,  that,  before 
October  ended,  a  memorial  to  the  Queen,  written  by 
Fanny  in  her  father's  name  and  her  own,  requesting  per- 
mission for  the  Robe- Keeper  to  resign,  had  been  approved 
by  the  Doctor,  who  expressed  his  desire  that  it  should  be 
presented  at  the  first  favourable  opportunity.  Then  came 
a  pause :  the  invalid  was  taking  bark,  which  for  a  short 
time  recruited  her  strength ;  and  she  cherished  the  hope 
of  obtaining  a  ship  for  her  brother  James  before  she  left 
the  Court.  But  her  hopes  both  for  her  brother  and  her- 
self proved  illusor}'.  In  December,  her  loss  of  health 
became  so  notorious  that  no  part  of  the  house  could 
wholly  avoid  acknowledging  it.  '  Yet,'  she  writes,  '  was 
the  terrible  piquet  the  catastrophe  of  every  evening, 
though  frequent  pains  in  my  side  forced  me,  three  and 
four  times  in  a  game,  to  creep  to  my  own  room  for 
hartshorn  and  for  rest.'  The  remaining  members  of  the 
household  were  more  considerate  than  the  mistress  of  the 
card-table.  The  ladies  had  the  fellow-feeling  of  fellow- 
sufferers  ;  even  Mr.  Turbulent  frankly  counselled  Miss 
Burney  to  retreat  before  it  was  too  late.  A  general 
opinion  prevailed  that  she  was  falling  into  a  decline,  and 
that,  at  best,  she  was  reduced  to  a  choice  between  her 
place  and  her  life.  "There  seemed  now,"  she  says,  "no 
time  to  be  lost ;  when  I  saw  my  dear  father  he  recom- 
mended to  me  to  be  speedy,  and  my  mother  was  very 
kind  in  urgency  for  immediate  measures.  I  could  not, 
however,  summon  courage  to  present  my  memorial ;  my 
heart  always  failed  me,  from  seeing  the  Queen's  entire 
freedom  from  such  an  expectation ;  for  though  I  was 
frequently  so  ill  in  her  presence  that  I  could  hardly  stand, 
I  saw  she  concluded  me,  while  life  remained,  inevitably 


Leave  of  Absence  Proposed.  269 

hers."  Fanny's  nervousness,  in  fact,  had  made  her  less 
anxious  to  deliver  her  letter  than  her  father  was  to  have 
it  delivered,  and  some  further  persuasion  from  him  was 
required  before  the  paper  reached  her  Majesty's  hands. 

At  length  it  was  presented,  and  the  result  was  exactly 
what  the  writer  had  anticipated.  The  Schwellenberg 
stormed,  of  course :  to  resign  was  to  return  to  nothing- 
ness ;  to  forfeit  the  protection  of  the  Court  was  to  become 
an  outcast ;  to  lose  the  beatific  vision  of  the  Sovereign 
and  his  consort  was  hardly  less  than  to  be  excluded  from 
heaven.  The  Queen  thought  the  memorial  very  modest 
and  proper,  but  was  surprised  at  its  contents.  Indomit- 
able herself,  she  could  not  understand  how  anyone  else 
could  suffer  from  more  than  passing  illness.  She  there- 
fore proposed  that  her  sick  attendant  should  have  six 
weeks'  leave  of  absence,  which,  with  change  of  air  and 
scene,  and  the  society  of  her  family,  the  Locks  and  the 
Cambridges,  would  ensure  a  perfect  cure.  This  proposal 
was  duly  communicated  to  Dr.  Burne}-.  The  good  man's 
answer  arrived  by  return  of  post.  With  much  gratitude 
for  the  royal  goodness,  he  declared,  on  medical  authority, 
that  nothing  short  of  an  absolute  retirement  gave  any 
prospect  of  recovery.  "A  scene  almost  horrible  ensued," 
says  Miss  Burney,  "when  I  told  Cerbera  the  offer  was 
declined.  She  was  too  much  enraged  for  disguise,  and 
uttered  the  most  furious  expressions  of  indignant  con- 
tempt at  our  proceedings.  I  am  sure  she  would  gladl}- 
have  confined  us  both  in  the  Bastille,  had  England  such 
a  misery,  as  a  fit  place  to  bring  us  to  ourselves,  from  a 
daring  so  outrageous  against  imperial  wishes." 

The  Queen  herself  betrayed  a  blank  disappointment  at 
Dr.  Burney's  inflexibility,  but  neither  exhibited  displeasure 
nor  raised  any  further  obstacle.  Yet  the  prisoner's  libera- 
tion was  still  at  a  distance.     In  January,  1791,  she  was 


270         The  Queen  and  Jllrs.  Schwellenberg. 

prostrated  by  an  attack  of  some  acute  illness  which  lasted 
through  the  two  following  months.  On  returning  to  her 
duty,  she  found  that  search  was  being  made  for  a  suitable 
person  to  succeed  her.  But  the  selection  proved  difficult, 
and  her  Majesty,  of  course,  could  not  be  pressed.  It  was 
at  length  arranged  that  Miss  Burney  should  be  set  free 
soon  after  the  celebration  of  the  King's  birthday  in  June. 
This  matter  settled,  her  position  grew  easier.  Her 
colleague  not  only  laid  aside  asperity  of  manner,  but 
became  even  '  invariable  in  kindness.'  x-\nd  Fanny  now 
began  to  do  the  old  lady  more  justice  than  she  had  ever 
done  before.  She  acknowledged,  m  short,  that  Cerbera's 
bark  was  worse  than  her  bite  ;  that  though  selfish,  harsh, 
and  overbearing,  she  was  not  unfriendly ;  that  she  was 
even  extremely  fond  of  her  junior's  society,  when  the 
latter  could  force  herself  to  appear  gay  and  chatty.  On 
such  occasions  the  morose  German  would  melt,  and  tell 
the  Queen  :  '  The  Bernar  bin  reely  agribble.'  '  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg,  too,'  adds  the  Diary,  '  with  all  her  faults, 
is  heart  and  soul  devoted  to  her  royal  mistress,  with  the 
truest  faith  and  loyalty,'  As  for  this  mistress,  she  treated 
her  retiring  servant  with  all  her  former  confidence,  clouded 
only  by  a  visible,  though  unavowed,  regret  at  the  prospect 
of  their  separation.  Thus  the  closing  weeks  of  this  life  at 
Court  were  spent  in  comparative  tranquillity,  though  there 
were  intervals  of  great  weakness  and  depression. 

"  On  the  opening  of  this  month,"  says  the  Diary  for 
June,  "  her  Majesty  told  me  that  the  next  day  Mr.  Hastings 
was  to  make  his  defence,  and  warmly  added,  '  I  would 
give  the  world  you  could  go  to  it!'"  There  was  no 
resisting  such  an  appeal,  and  accordingly,  under  date  of 
June  2nd,  we  read  :  "  I  went  once  more  to  Westminster 
Hall,  which  was  more  crowded  than  on  any  day  since  the 
trial   commenced,  except  the  first.      Peers,  commoners, 


A  Day  at  the  Hastings   Trial.  271 

and  counsel,  peeresses,  commoneresses,  and  the  numerous 
indefinites,  crowded  ever}- part,  with  a  just  and  fair  curiosity 
to  hear  one  day's  defence,  after  seventy-three  of  accusa- 
tion.' Miss  Burney  heard  the  accused  read  his  vindication, 
and  Hstened  with  an  interest  which  she  knew  would  be 
shared  by  the  King  and  Queen  ;  she  heard  something  also 
about  herself,  which  she  did  not  communicate  to  their 
Majesties.  She  attended  to  the  story  of  Hastings  when 
told  by  himself  as  she  had  never  attended  to  it  before ; 
her  sympathy  followed  him  when  he  expressed  disdain  of 
his  persecutors,  when  he  arraigned  the  late  Minister,  Lord 
North,  of  double-dealing,  and  the  then  Minister,  Mr.  Pitt, 
of  cowardly  desertion.  She  shared  his  indignation  when 
the  Managers  interrupted  him  ;  she  exulted  when  the 
Lords  quelled  the  interruption  by  cheering  the  speaker, 
and  when  Lord  Kenyon,  who  presided  in  the  place  of  the 
Chancellor,  said,  '  Mr.  Hastings,  proceed.'  She  contrasted 
the  fortitude  of  the  defendant,  who  for  so  many  days  had 
been  silent  under  virulent  abuse,  with  the  intemperate 
eagerness  of  his  assailants,  who  could  not  exercise  the 
like  self  control  even  for  three  brief  hours.  In  short,  she 
felt  as  warm-hearted  women  always  have  felt,  and  as  it  is 
suspected  that  even  icy  politicians,  men  of  light  and  lead- 
ing on  their  respective  sides,  occasionally  do  feel  in  the 
present  enlightened  age.  "The  conclusion  of  the  defence," 
continues  this  excited  partisan,  "  I  heard  better,  as  Mr. 
Hastings  spoke  considerably  louder  from  this  time  :  the 
spirit  of  indignation  animated  his  manner,  and  gave 
strength  to  his  voice.  You  will  have  seen  the  chief  parts 
of  his  discourse  in  the  newspapers  ;  and  you  cannot,  I 
think,  but  grow  more  and  more  his  friend  as  you  peruse 
it.  He  called  pathetically  and  solemnly  for  instant  judg- 
ment ;  but  the  Lords,  after  an  adjournment,  decided  to 
hear   his   defence  by  evidence,   and  in  order,    the  next 


272  The  Defence. 

Session.  How  grievous  such  continued  delay  to  a  man 
past  sixty,  and  sighing  for  such  a  length  of  time  for 
redress  from  a  prosecution  as  yet  unparalleled  in  our 
annals !" 

When  it  was  over,  Windham  approached  her,  and  *  in 
a  tone  of  very  deep  concern,  and  with  a  look  that 
fully  concurred  in  it,'  said,  'Do  I  see  Miss  Burney  ? 
Indeed,'  he  went  on,  '  I  was  going  to  make  a  speech  not 
very  gallant.'  '  But  it  is  what  I  should  like  better,'  cried 
the  lady ;  for  it  is  kind,  if  you  were  going  to  say  I  look 
miserably  ill,  as  that  is  but  a  necessary  consequence  of 
feeling  so,  and  miserably  ill  I  have  felt  this  long  time 
past.'  She  prevented  more  by  going  on  to  say  how  happy 
she  was  that  he  had  been  absent  from  the  Managers'  Box, 
and  had  not  joined  in  the  attempt  made  by  his  fellow- 
managers  to  disconcert  Mr.  Hastings.  '  Indeed,  I  was 
kept  in  alarm  to  the  very  last  moment  ;  for  at  every 
hgure  I  saw  start  up  just  now— Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Burke,  Mr. 
Grey — -I  concluded  yours  would  be  the  next.'  '  You  were 
prepared,  then,'  cried  he  with  no  little  malice,  '  for  a 
"  voice  issuing  from  a  distant  pew."  '  This  unexpected 
quotation  from  Cecilia  "  put  me  quite  out,"  says  Fanny, 
"  whereupon  he  seized  his  opportunity  to  put  himself  in. 
For,  after  a  little  laugh  at  his  victory,  he  very  gravely, 
and  even  almost  solemnly,  said,  '  But  there  is  another 
subject — always  uppermost  with  me — which  I  have  not 
ventured  to  speak  of  to  you  ;  though  to  others  you  know 
not  how  I  have  raved  and  raged  !  But  I  believe,  I  am 
sure,  you  know  what  I  allude  to.'  'Twas  impossible, 
thus  challenged,  to  dissemble.  'Yes,'  I  answered;  'I 
own,  I  believe  I  understand  you  ;  and,  indeed,  I  should  be 
tempted  to  say  further — if  you  would  forget  it  when  heard, 
and  make  no  implications — that,  from  what  has  come 
round  to  me  from  different  quarters,  I  hold   m}'self  to   be 


A  Lively  Scene.  273 

very  much  obliged  to  you  .  .  .  .'  When  we  came  home 
I  was  immediately  summoned  to  her  Majesty,  to  whom  I 
gave  a  full  and  fair  account  of  all  I  had  heard  of  the 
defence  ;  and  it  drew  tears  from  her  expressive  ej^es,  as  I 
repeated  Mr.  Hastings'  own  words,  upon  the  hardship 
and  injustice  of  the  treatment  he  had  sustained."  At 
night,  the  reporter  was  called  upon  to  repeat  her  narrative 
to  the  King,  to  whom  she  was  equally  faithful,  "  sparing 
nothing  of  what  had  dropped  from  the  persecuted  de- 
fendant relative  to  the  Ministers  of  the  Crown." 

Two  days  afterwards  came  the  King's  birthday,  and 
Miss  Burney  was  well  enough  to  enjoy  a  lively  scene — 
the  last  that  she  was  to  witness  at  Court : 

"  At  dinner  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  presided,  attired  mag- 
nificently. Miss  Goldsworthy,  Mrs.  Stainforth,  Messrs. 
de  Luc  and  Stanhope  dined  with  us ;  and,  while  we  were 
still  eating  fruit,  the  Duke  of  Clarence  entered.  He  was 
just  risen  from  the  King's  table,  and  waiting  for  his 
equipage  to  go  home  and  prepare  for  the  ball.  To  give 
you  an  idea  of  the  energy  of  his  Royal  Highness's  lan- 
guage, I  ought  to  set  apart  a  general  objection  to  writing, 
or  rather  intimating,  certain  forcible  words,  and  beg  leave 
to  show  you,  in  genuine  colours,  a  royal  sailor.  We  al) 
rose,  of  course,  upon  his  entrance,  and  the  two  gentle- 
men placed  themselves  behind  their  chairs,  while  the 
footmen  left  the  room  ;  but  he  ordered  us  all  to  sit  down, 
and  called  the  men  back  to  hand  about  some  wine.  He 
was  in  exceeding  high  spirits,  and  in  the  utmost  good 
humour.  He  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
next  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  and  looked  remarkably  well, 
gay,  and  full  of  sport  and  mischief,  yet  clever  withal  as 
well  as  comical.  '  Well,  this  is  the  first  day  I  have  ever 
dined   with    the    King   at    St.    James's  on  his   birthday. 

18 


2  74  ^^^^  Duke  of  Clarence. 

Pray,  have  you  all  drunk  his  Majesty's  health  ?'  '  No, 
your  Roy'l  Highness :  your   Roy'l   Highness  might  make 

dem  do  dat,'  said  Mrs.  Schwellenberg.     '  O,  by will 

I  !  Here,  you  (to  the  footman)  ;  bring  champagne  !  I'll 
drink  the  King's  health  again,  if  I  die  for  it  !  Yet,  I  have 
done  pretty  well  already  :  so  has  the  King,  I  promise  you  ! 
1  believe  his  Majesty  was  never  taken  such  good  care  of 
before.  We  have  kept  his  spirits  up,  I  promise  you  ;  we 
have  enabled  him  to  go  through  his  fatigues  :  and  I  should 
have  done  more  still,  but  for  the  ball  and  Mary — I  have 
promised  to  dance  with  Mary  !'  Princess  Mary  made 
her  first  appearance  at  Court  to-day  :  she  looked  most 
interesting  and  unaffectedly  lovely :  she  is  a  sweet 
creature,  and  perhaps,  in  point  of  beauty,  the  first  of  this 
truly  beautiful  race,  of  which  Princess  Mary  may  be 
called  pendant  to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Champagne  being 
now  brought  for  the  Duke,  he  ordered  it  all  round. 
When  it  came  to  me,  I  whispered  to  Westerhaults  to 
carry  it  on  :  the  Duke  slapped  his  hands  violently  on  the 

table,  and  called  out,  '  O,  by ,  you  shall   drink  it  1' 

There  was  no  resisting  this.     We  all  stood  up,  and  the 
Duke  sonorously  gave  the  royal  toast." 

The  indefatigable  diarist,  says  Thackeray,  continues 
for  pages  reporting  H.R.H.'s  conversation,  and  indicating, 
with  a  humour  not  unworthy  of  the  clever  little  author  of 
'  Evelina,'  the  increasing  excitement  of  the  young  Sailor 
Prince,  who  drank  more  and  more  champagne,  stopped 
old  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  remonstrances  by  kissing  her 
hand,  and  telling  her  to  shut  her  potato-trap,  and  who 
did  not  keep  '  sober  for  Mary.'  Mary  had  to  find  another 
partner  that  night,  for  the  royal  William  Henry  could  not 
keep  his  legs.  When  the  Princess  afterwards  told  Miss 
Burney  of  her  brother's  condition  at  the  ball,  and  Fanny 


Parting  with  the  Royal  Fa7jzily.  275 

accounted  for  it  by  relating  what  had  passed  at  the 
attendants'  dinner-table,  she  found  that  she  had  been 
anticipated  by  the  Duke  himself.  'Oh!'  cried  the 
Princess ;  '  he  told  me  of  it  himself  the  next  morning, 
and  said:  "You  may  think  how  far  I  was  gone,  for  I 
kissed  the  Schwellenberg's  hand!"'  The  lady  saluted 
was  duly  sensible  of  the  honour  paid  her.  '  Dat  Prince 
Villiam,'  she  observed  to  her  junior — '  oders  de  Duke  of 
Clarence  —  bin  raelly  ver  merry  —  oders  vat  you  call 
tipsy.' 

Mademoiselle  Jacobi,^  Fanny's  destined  successor, 
arrived  in  the  first  days  of  July,  and  the  prison  door  was 
now  thrown  open.  Miss  Burney  imagined  that,  as  the 
day  of  her  discharge  approached,  the  Queen's  manner 
to  her  became  rather  less  cordial,  and  betokened  an 
inward  feeling  that  the  invalided  servant  ought,  at 
every  hazard,  to  have  remained  with  her  employer. 
This,  we  believe,  is  a  common  opinion  among  mis- 
tresses in  all  ranks  of  life,  when  called  upon  to  sur- 
render a  trusted  dependent.  The  King,  with  that 
weakness  which  the  better-half  always  despises,  was 
disposed  to  be  much  more  indulgent.  As  if  to  compen- 
sate for  his  consort's  vexation,  he  showed  himself  in- 
creasingly courteous  and  kind  at  every  meeting,  making 
opportunities    to    talk    over    Boswell's    book,   which    had 

*  Macaulay  asserts  that,  shortly  after  her  release,  Miss  Burney  '"visited  her  old 
dungeon,  and  found  her  successor  already  far  on  the  way  to  the  grave,  and  kept 
to  strict  duty,  from  morning  till  midnight,  with  a  sprained  ankle,  and  a  nervous 
fever."  This  is  a  strange  misstatement.  Mademoiselle  Jacobi  had  leave  of 
absence  to  nurse  her  sprain  :  it  was  not  "  in  the  old  dungeon  "  that  Miss  Burney 
saw  her  on  the  occasion  referred  to,  but  in  a  small  room  at  Brompton,  where 
she  was  sitting  with  her  leg  on  bolsters,  and  unable  to  put  her  foot  to  the 
ground.  Fanny,  in  January,  1792,  took  a  turn  of  duty  at  St.  James's,  by  the 
Queen's  request,  because  "  JNIademoiselle  Jacobi  was  stUl  lame."  Diary,  vol.  iii., 
pp.  385-87.  However,  we  read  afterwards  that,  towards  the  end  of  1797, 
Mademoiselle  Jacobi  "  retired  to  Germany,  ill  and  dissatisfied  with  everythmg 
in  England."     She,  as  well  as  Miss  Burney,  received  a  pension. 


2/6  Miss  Biirizty  receives  a  PeJisioii. 

recently  appeared,  and  listening  to  Fanny's  anecdotes  of 
Johnson  with  the  utmost  complacency  and  interest.  The 
Princesses  did  not  conceal  their  sorrow  at  the  impending 
change.  '  Indeed,'  says  the  Diary,  '  the  most  flattering 
marks  of  attention  meet  me  from  all  quarters.  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  has  been  forced  to  town  by  ill-health  ;  she 
was  ver}^  -friendly,  even  affectionate,  in  going  !'  And 
before  the  hour  of  parting  arrived,  the  light  cloud  passed 
away  from  her  Majesty's  face.  It  has  been  asked,  Why 
should  she  have  grieved  at  losing  an  attendant,  who,  as 
the  Queen  used  to  complain,  could  never  tie  the  bow  of 
her  royal  necklace  without  tying  her  royal  hair  in  with 
it  ?  But,  in  Miss  Burney,  Queen  Charlotte  was  losing 
much  more  than  an  unskilful  tire-woman,  or  a  nervous 
reader,' who,  as  we  know  on  the  same  unimpeachable 
authority,  'had  the  misfortune  of  reading  rather  low.'  She 
was  losing  one  whom  she  declared  to  be  'true  as  gold,'  and 
who  had  a  much  larger  share  of  mind  than  commonly  fell  to 
the  official  lot;  a  familiar  friend  who  was  as  far  as  possible 
from  being  a  learned  lady,  and  yet  capable  of  entertaining 
her  mistress  with  clever  and  stimulating  talk  such  as  her 
Majesty  loved.  No  retiring  pension  had  been  asked  for 
in  the  petition  for  leave  to  resign,  and  when  the  subject 
was  mentioned  b}-  the  Queen,  the  petitioner  hastened  to 
disavow  all  claim  and  expectation  of  that  kind.  She 
found,  however,  that  the  question  of  what  the  occasion 
demanded  had  been  already  considered  and  decided. 
Though  the  term  of  service  had  been  short,  the  character 
of  the  servant,  and  the  notorious  failure  of  her  health, 
made  it  imperative  that  she  should  receive  some  pro- 
vision. The  Queen  therefore  announced  her  intention  of 
continuing  to  her  second  Robe-Keeper  in  retirement  one- 
half  of  the  annual  salary  which  had  been  paid  to  her  in 
office.     '  It  is  but   her  due,'  said  the   King.     *  She  has 


Her  Final  Retirement.  277 

given  up  five  years  of  her  pen.'*  Two  days  after  this 
matter  was  settled,  Miss  Burney  took  leave  of  the  Royal 
Family.  Emotional  as  one  of  her  own  heroines,  she 
could  not  control  her  feelings  in  bidding  farewell  to  the 
Queen,  and  was  unable  even  to  look  at  the  King  when 
he  came  to  say  '  Good-bye.'  She  quitted  the  Court  on 
July  7,  1791,  having  been  a  member  of  the  royal  house- 
hold for  five  years  all  but  ten  days.  Burke  recalled  the 
satisfaction  with  which  he  had  hailed  her  appointment ; 
and,  owning  that  he  had  never  been  more  mistaken  in  his 
life,  observed  that  the  story  of  those  five  years  .would 
have  furnished  Johnson  with  another  vivid  illustration  for 
his  '  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.' 

*  Memoirs,  iii.  Ii8  n. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Chelsea  Hospital  —  Tour  to  Devonshire  —Visit  to  Bath — Reminiscences — 
The  Duchess  of  Devonshire — Return  Home^Literary  Pursuits  resumed— 
Attempts  at  Tragedy — Social  Engagements — Death  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
— A  Public  Breakfast  at  Mrs.  Montagu's — Mrs.  Hastings — Mr.  Boswell — 
Visit  to  Mrs.  Crewe — The  Burke  Family — Meeting  with  Edmund  Burke — 
Burke  and  the  French  Revolution — Charles  Fox — Lord  Loughborough — 
Mr.  Erskine — His  Egotism — The  French  Refugees  in  England — Bury  .St. 
f^dmunds — Madame  de  Genlis — The  Duke  de  Liancourt — The  Settlement 
at  Mickleham — Count  de  Narbonne — The  Chevalier  d'Arblay — Visit  of  Miss 
Burney  to  Norfolk— Death  of  Mr.  Francis — Return  to  London. 

Miss  Burney  returned  to  her  father,  who,  with  his  wife 
and  his  youngest  daughter  Sarah,  was  then  hving  in 
Chelsea  Hospital.  The  family  at  this  time  occupied 
rooms  on  the  ground-floor,  which  not  long  afterwards 
were  exchanged  for  others  in  the  top  story.  After  resting 
three  weeks  at  home,  she  set  out  on  a  tour  to  the  south- 
west of  England,  under  the  care  of  her  friend  Mrs.  Ord. 
The  travellers  journeyed  by  easy  stages  to  Sidmouth, 
taking  Stonehenge  on  their  way,  and  stopping  at  the 
principal  places  which  had  been  visited  by  the  Court  in 
the  summer  of  1789.  Having  spent  eight  or  nine  days 
on  the  coast  of  South  Devon,  the}'  turned  northwards, 
and  proceeded  by  the  ruins  of  Glastonbury  Abbey  to 
Bath.  That  most  famous  of  English  watering-places  was 
greatly  altered  from  what  it  had  been  when  Fanny  passed 
the  season  there  with  the  Thrales  eleven  years  before. 
The  circumference,  she  tells  us,  had  trebled,  though  the 
new   buildings   were   scattered,  and    most   of  them  un- 


Visii  to  Balk.  279 

finished.  "  The  hills  are  built  up  and  down,  and  the 
vales  so  stocked  with  streets  and  houses,  that,  in  some 
places,  from  the  ground-floor  on  one  side  a  street,  you 
cross  over  to  the  attic  of  your  opposite  neighbour.  It 
looks  a  town  of  hills,  and  a  hill  of  towns."  But  the 
palaces  of  white  stone  rising  up  on  every  hand  interested 
her  less  than  the  old  haunts  with  which  she  was  familiar 
— the  North  Parade,  where  she  had  lived  with  Mrs. 
Thrale  ;  the  houses  in  the  Circus,  where  she  had  visited 
Mrs.  Montagu  and  Mrs.  Cholmley  ;  the  Belvedere,  where 
she  had  talked  with  Mrs.  Byron  and  Lord  Mulgrave. 
Nearly  a  month  slipped  away  in  reviving  old  recollec- 
tions, and  in  making  some  new  acquaintances  to  replace 
the  many  that  had  disappeared.  The  retired  official  was 
much  flattered  by  an  introduction  to  the  celebrated 
Duchess  of  Devonshire,  and  amused  herself  with  the 
thought  that  her  first  visit  after  leaving  the  Queen 
should  be  paid  to  the  greatest  lady  of  the  Opposition. 
Another  month  was  divided  between  Mickleham  and 
Norbury  Park,  and  by  the  middle  of  October  Miss  Burney 
was  again  at  Chelsea. 

'  We  shall  expect  you  here  to  dinner  by  four,'  wrote 
her  father.  '  The  great  grubbery  will  be  in  nice  order  for 
you,  as  well  as  the  little  ;  both  have  lately  had  many 
accessions  of  new  books.  The  ink  is  good,  good  pens  in 
plenty,  and  the  most  pleasant  and  smooth  paper  in  the 
world  ! 

•  "  Come,  Rosalind,  oh,  come  and  see 
What  quires  are  in  store  for  thee  !"'  ' 

Are  we  wrong  in  thinking  that  these  words  express  Dr. 
Burney's  anxiety  to  see  his  daughter  once  more  working 
as  she  had  not  worked  since  the  last  sheet  of  *  Cecilia ' 
was  corrected  for  the  press  ?  In  the  succeeding  pages  of 
the  Diary  we  find  more  than  one  passage  where  the  good 


2  8o  Atte77ipts  at  Tragedy. 

man's  eagerness  for  some  new  fruit  of  her  talents  is 
plainly  confessed.  Friends  had  united  to  persuade  him 
that  he  had  but  to  recall  her  from  the  royal  dressing- 
room  to  her  study,  and  fresh  laurels,  with  abundant 
riches,  would  surely  and  speedily  be  hers.  He  was 
naturally  impatient  for  some  fulfilment  of  these  prophecies. 
Rosalind  appeared  :  she  wore  out  the  quills,  and  covered 
the  quires  ;  but  nothing  came  of  her  activity.  Her  health 
was  now  fairly  restored,  and,  in  the  first  ardour  of  com- 
position, she  felt  that  she  could  employ  two  pens  almost 
incessantly.  Unhappily,  her  industry  was  devoted  to  a 
mistaken  purpose.  She  had  brought  with  her  from 
Windsor  the  rough  drafts  of  two  tragedies,  and  without 
pausing  to  correct  these,  she  occupied  herself  in  writing 
a  third.  A  less  hopeful  enterprise  could  not  have  been 
conceived.  She  had  before  her  eyes  the  warning  example 
of  Mr.  Crisp's  failure.  Had  this  old  friend  been  living, 
he  would  doubtless  have  been  wiser  for  his  pupil  than  he 
was  for  himself.  It  is  certain  that  Nature  had  not  de- 
signed the  Siddons  for  tragedy  more  distinctly  than  she 
intended  Frances  Burney  for  comedy.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  one  or  two  powerful  scenes,  such  as  the  death  of 
Harrel,  Fanny's  chief  successes  had  been  won  in  the 
department  of  humorous  writing.  It  was  her  misfortune 
that  she  had  at  this  moment  no  literary  adviser  on  whose 
judgment  she  could  rely.  Her  acquaintance  with  Arthur 
Murphy  seems  to  have  ceased  ;  the  Hastings  trial,  and 
the  debates  on  the  Regency,  had  cooled  her  relations 
with  Sheridan  and  Burke.  '  Mr.  Sheridan,'  she  wrote, 
'  I  have  no  longer  any  ambition  to  be  noticed  by.'  Her 
regard  for  Burke  continued  ;  but  she  had  not  yet  met 
him  since  her  deliverance  from  captivity.  Dr.  Burney 
was  told  only  that  she  was  engaged  upon  a  play,  and  was 
made   to   understand    that    he    must   wait    until    it   was 


Public  Bi'eakfast  at  Mrs.   Montagtts.       281 

finished  before  he  was  indulged  with  a  sight  of  the  manu- 
script. Towards  the  end  of  1791  she  writes :  '  I  go  on 
with  various  writings,  at  different  times,  and  just  as  the 
humour  strikes.  I  have  promised  my  dear  father  a 
Christmas-box  and  a  New  Year's  gift  ;  and  therefore  he 
now  kindly  leaves  me  to  my  own  devices.'  We  do  not 
find  that  the  anxious  parent  received  either  of  the 
promised  presents.  The  daughter's  fit  of  application 
seems  to  have  soon  died  away :  in  the  early  part  of  1792, 
her  father  was  ill  and  occupied  with  his  ailments  ;  and  by 
the  time  he  was  able  to  think  of  other  things,  Fanny  had 
ceased  to  prepare  for  coming  before  the  public.  Her 
tragedies  slept  in  her  desk  for  three  years  :  when,  at  the 
end  of  that  period,  the  earliest  of  them,  which  had  been 
begun  at  Kew  and  finished  at  Windsor,  was  put  on  the 
stage,  it  was  produced  without  revision,  and  failed — 
as,  no  doubt,  it  would  have  done  under  any  circum- 
stances. 

As  Miss  Burney's  strength  returned,  she  seems  to  have 
fallen  back  into  the  indolent  life  of  visiting  and  party-going 
which  she  was  leading  when  she  joined  the  Royal  House- 
hold. She  saw  once  more  the  failing  Sir  Joshua,  who 
had  worked  at  her  deliverance  as  if  she  had  been  his  own 
daughter ;  though  he  passed  from  the  scene  before  she 
found  an  opportunity  of  thanking  him  for  his  exertions. 
She  attended  a  great  public  breakfast  given  by  Mrs. 
Montagu,  whose  famous  Feather  Room  and  dining-room 
were  thronged  by  hundreds  of  guests,  and  looked  like  a 
full  Ranelagh  by  daylight.  At  this  entertainment  she 
met  Mrs.  Hastings,  whose  splendid  dress,  loaded  with 
ornaments,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  an  Indian 
princess.  At  another  breakfast  Fanny  encountered  Bos- 
well,  who  had  excited  her  displeasure  by  his  revelation  of 
Johnson's  infirmities,   and  who   provoked   her  again  by 


282  Visii  to  Mrs.   Ci^ewe. 

telling  anecdotes  of  the  great  Samuel,  and  acting  them 
with  open  buffoonery.  During  the  Session,  she  spent 
much  of  her  time  at  the  Hastings  trial,  listening  to  the 
defence  conducted  by  Law,  Dallas,  and  Plomer,  and 
rallying  Windham  on  the  sarcasms  aimed  by  Law  at  the 
heated  rhetoric  of  Burke.  The  great  orator  himself  she 
rarely  encountered  on  these  occasions.  In  June,  1792, 
however,  she  spent  a  day  with  him  at  Mrs.  Crewe's  house 
on  Hampstead  Hill. 

"The  villa  at  Hampstead  is  small,  but  commodious. 
We  were  received  by  Mrs.  Crewe  with  much  kindness. 
The  room  was  rather  dark,  and  she  had  a  veil  to  her 
bonnet,  half  down,  and  with  this  aid  she  looked  still  in  a 
full  blaze  of  beauty  ....  She  is  certainly,  in  my  eyes,  the 
most  completely  a  beauty  of  any  woman  I  ever  saw.  I 
know  not,  even  now,  any  female  in  her  first  youth  who 
could  bear  the  comparison.  She  uglifies  ever3'thing  near 
her.  Her  son  was  with  her.  He  is  just  of  age,  and 
looks  like  her  elder  brother !  he  is  a  heavy,  old-looking 
young  man.    He  is  going  to  China  with  Lord  Macartney.* 

"  My  former  friend,  young  Burke,  was  also  there.  I 
was  glad  to  renew  acquaintance  with  him  ;  though  I 
could  see  some  little  strangeness  in  him  :  this,  however, 
completely  wore  off  before  the  day  was  over.  Soon  after 
entered  Mrs.  Burke,  Miss  French,  a  niece,  and  Mr. 
Richard  Burke,  the  comic,  humorous,  bold,  queer  brother 
oithc  Mr.  Burke  ....  Mrs.  Burke  was  just  what  I  have 
always  seen  her,  soft,  gentle,  reasonable,  and  obliging  ; 
and  we  met,  I  think,  upon  as  good  terms  as  if  so  many 
years  had  not  parted  us. 

"At  length  Mr.  Burke  appeared,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Elliot.     He   shook   hands  with  my  father  as  soon  as  he 

*  1 737- '806.  Lord  Macartney's  mission  to  China  was  narrated  in  two  inter- 
esting works,  Alacartney's  Journal,  and  Staiiiiton's  '  Account  of  l/ie  Embasiy.' 


Meetino  with  Edmu7id  Btirke.  28 


*;>> 


o 


had  paid  his  devoirs  to  Mrs.  Crewe,  but  he  returned  my 
curtsey  with  so  distant  a  bow,  that  I  concluded  myself 
quite  lost  with  him,  from  my  evident  solicitude  in  poor 
Mr.  Hastings's  cause.  I  could  not  wish  that  less  obvious, 
thinking  as  I  think  of  it ;  but  I  felt  infinitely  grieved  to 
lose  the  favour  of  a  man  whom,  in  all  other  articles,  I  so 
much  venerate,  and  whom,  indeed,  I  esteem  and  admire 
as  the  very  first  man  of  true  genius  now  living  in  this 
country. 

"  Mrs.  Crewe  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Elliot  :  I  am  sure 
we  were  already  personally  known  to  each  other,  for  I 
have  seen  him  perpetually  in  the  Managers'  Box,  whence, 
as  often,  he  must  have  seen  me  in  the  Great  Chamber- 
lain's. He  is  a  tall,  thin  young  man,  plain  in  face,  dress, 
and  manner,  but  sensible,  and  possibly  much  besides ;  he 
was  reserved,  however,  and  little  else  appeared. 

"  The  moment  I  was  named,  to  my  great  joy  I  found 
Mr.  Burke  had  not  recollected  me.  He  is  more  near- 
sighted considerably  than  myself.  '  Miss  Burney  !'  he 
now  exclaimed,  coming  forward,  and  quite  kindly  taking 
my  hand,  '  I  did  not  see  you  ;'  and  then  he  spoke  very 
sweet  words  of  the  meeting,  and  of  my  looking  far  better 
than  '  while  I  was  a  courtier,'  and  of  how  he  rejoiced 
to  see  that  I  so  little  suited  that  station.  '  You  look,' 
cried  he,  '  quite  renewed,  revived,  disengaged  ;  you 
seemed,  when  I  conversed  with  you  last,  at  the  trial, 
quite  altered ;  I  never  saw  such  a  change  for  the  better 
as  quitting  a  Court  has  brought  about !' 

"  Ah  !  thought  I,  this  is  simply  a  mistake,  from  reason- 
ing according  to  your  own  feelings.  I  only  seemed 
altered  for  the  worse  at  the  trial,  because  I  there  looked 
coldly  and  distantly,  from  distaste  and  disaffection  to  your 
proceedings  ;  and  I  here  look  changed  for  the  better,  only 
because  I  here  meet  you  without  the  chill  of  disapproba- 


284         Burke  and  the  French  Revolution. 

tion,  and  with  the  glow  of  my  first  admiration  of  you  and 
your  talents ! 

"  Mrs.  Crewe  gave  him  her  place,  and  he  sat  by  me, 
and  entered  into  a  most  animated  conversation  upon 
Lord  Macartney  and  his  Chinese  expedition,  and  the  two 
Chinese  youths  who  were  to  accompany  it.  These  last 
he  described  minutely,  and  spoke  of  the  extent  of  the 
undertaking  in  high,  and  perhaps  fanciful,  terms,  but 
with  allusions  and  anecdotes  intermixed,  so  full  of  general 
information  and  brilliant  ideas,  that  I  soon  felt  the  whole 
of  my  first  enthusiasm  return,  and  with  it  a  sensation  of 
pleasure  that  made  the  day  delicious  to  me. 

"  After  this  my  father  joined  us,  and  politics  took  the 
lead.  He  spoke  then  with  an  eagerness  and  a  vehemence 
that  instantly  banished  the  graces,  though  it  redoubled 
the  energies,  of  his  discourse.  '  The  French  Revolution,' 
he  said,  '  which  began  by  authorizing  and  legalizing  in- 
justice, and  which  by  rapid  steps  had  proceeded  to  every 
species  of  despotism  except  owning  a  despot,  was  now 
menacing  all  the  universe  and  all  mankind  with  the  most 
violent  concussion  of  principle  and  order.'  My  father 
heartily  joined,  and  I  tacitly  assented  to  his  doctrines, 
though  I  feared  not  with  his  fears. 

"  One  speech  I  must  repeat,  for  it  is  explanatory  of  his 
conduct,  and  nobly  explanatory.  When  he  had  expatiated 
upon  the  present  dangers,  even  to  English  liberty  and 
property,  from  the  contagion  of  havoc  and  novelty,  he 
earnestly  exclaimed,  '  This  it  is  that  has  made  me  an 
abettor  and  supporter  of  Kings  !  Kings  are  necessary, 
and,  if  we  would  preserve  peace  and  prosperity,  we  must 
preserve  them.  We  must  all  put  our  shoulders  to  the 
work  !     Ay,  and  stoutly,  too  I'  .  .  . 

"  At  dinner  Mr.  Burke  sat  next  Mrs.  Crewe,  and  I  had 
the  happiness  to  be  seated  next  Mr.  Burke ;  and  my  other 
neighbour  was  his  amiable  son. 


(uhii inid   '.'hnrkf 


Charles  Fox.  285 

"  The  dinner,  and  the  dessert  when  the  servants  were 
removed,  were  delightful.  How  I  wish  my  dear  Susanna 
and  Fredy*  could  meet  this  wonderful  man  when  he  is 
easy,  happy,  and  with  people  he  cordially  likes  !  But 
politics,  even  on  his  own  side,  must  always  be  excluded  ; 
his  irritability  is  so  terrible  on  that  theme  that  it  gives 
immediately  to  his  face  the  expression  of  a  man  who  is 
going  to  defend  himself  from  murderers.  .  .  . 

"  Charles  Fox  being  mentioned,  Mrs.  Crewe  told  us 
that  he  had  lately  said,  upon  being  shown  some  passage 
in  Mr.  Burke's  book  which  he  had  warmly  opposed,  but 
which  had,  in  the  event,  made  its  own  justification,  very 
candidly,  '  Well  !  Burke  is  right — but  Burke  is  often 
right,  only  he  is  right  too  soon.' 

"  '  Had  Fox  seen  some  things  in  that  book,'  answered 
Mr.  Burke,  '  as  soon,  he  would  at  this  moment,  in  all 
probability,  be  first  minister  of  this  country.' 

"  '  What  !'  cried  Mrs.  Crewe,  '  with  Pitt  ?— No  !— no  ! 
— Pitt  won't  go  out,  and  Charles  Fox  will  never  make  a 
coalition  with  Pitt.' 

"'And  why  not?'  said  Mr.  Burke  dryly!  'why  not 
this  coalition  as  well  as  other  coalitions  ?' 

"  Nobody  tried  to  answer  this. 

"  '  Charles  Fox,  however,'  said  Mr.  Burke,  afterwards, 
*  can  never  internally  like  the  French  Revolution.  He  is 
entangled  ;  but,  in  himself,  if  he  should  find  no  other 
objection  to  it,  he  has  at  least  too  much  taste  for  such  a 
revolution.'  .  .  . 

"  Mr.  Richard  Burke  related,  very  comically,  various 
censures  cast  upon  his  brother,  accusing  him  of  being  the 
friend  of  despots,  and  the  abettor  of  slavery,  because  he 
had  been  shocked  at  the  imprisonment  of  the  King  of 
France,  and  was  anxious  to  preserve  our  own  limited 

*  Mrs.  Locke. 


286      Lord  Loughborough  and  Mr.  Erskine. 

monarchy  in  the  same   state  in  which    it   so    long   had 
flourished. 

"  Mr.  Burke  looked  half  alarmed  at  his  brother's  open- 
ing, but,  when  he  had  finished,  he  very  good-humouredly 
poured  out  a  glass  of  wine,  and,  turning  to  me,  said, 
*  Come,  then — here's  slavery  for  ever  I'  This  was  well 
understood,  and  echoed  round  the  table  with  hearty 
laughter. 

"  '  This  would  do  for  3'ou  completely,  Mr.  Burke,'  said 
Mrs.  Crewe,  '  if  it  could  get  into  a  newspaper !  Mr. 
Burke,  they  would  say,  has  now  spoken  out ;  the  truth 
has  come  to  light  unguardedly,  and  his  real  defection 
from  the  cause  of  true  liberty  is  acknowledged  I  should 
like  to  draw  up  the  paragraph  !' 

"  '  And  add,'  said  Mr.  Burke,  '  the  toast  was  ad- 
dressed to  Miss  Burney,  in  order  to  pay  court  to  the 
Queen!'  "  .  .  .  .  After  a  stroll: 

"  The  party  returned  with  two  very  singular  additions 
to  its  number — Lord  Loughborough,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Erskine.  They  have  villas  at  Hampstead,  and  were  met 
in  the  walk  ;  Mr.  Erskine  else  would  not,  probably,  have 
desired  to  meet  Mr.  Burke,  who  openly  in  the  House  of 
Commons  asked  him  if  he  knew  what  friendship  meant, 
when  he  pretended  to  call  him,  Mr.  Burke,  his  friend  ? 

"  There  was  an  evident  disunion  of  the  cordiality  of  the 
party  from  this  time.  My  father,  Mr.  Richard  Burke, 
his  nephew,  and  Mr.  Elliot  entered  into  some  general 
discourse ;  Mr.  Burke  took  up  a  volume  of  Boileau,  and 
read  aloud,  though  to  himself,  and  with  a  pleasure  that 
soon  made  him  seem  to  forget  all  intruders  :  Lord  Lough- 
borough joined  Mrs.  Burke,  and  Mr.  Erskine,  seating 
himself  next  to  Mrs.  Crewe,  engrossed  her  entirely,  yet 
talked  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear  who  were  not  engaged 
themselves. 


Erskines  Egotism.  287 

*'  For  me,  I  sat  next  Mrs.  Erskine,  who  seems  much  a 
woman  of  the  world,  for  she  spoke  with  me  just  as  freely, 
and  readily,  and  easily  as  if  we  had  been  old  friends, 

"  Mr.  Erskine  enumerated  all  his  avocations  to  Mrs. 
Crewe,  and,  amongst  others,  mentioned,  very  calmly, 
having  to  plead  against  Mr.  Crewe  upon  a  manor  business 
in  Cheshire.  Mrs.  Crewe  hastily  and  alarmed,  interrupted 
him,  to  inquire  what  he  meant,  and  what  might  ensue  to 
Mr.  Crewe  ?  '  Oh,  nothing  but  the  loss  of  the  lordship 
upon  that  spot,'  he  coolly  answered  ;  '  but  I  don't  know 
that  it  will  be  given  against  him  :  I  only  know  I  shall 
have  three  hundred  pounds  for  it.' 

"  Mrs.  Crewe  looked  thoughtful ;  and  Mr.  Erskine  then 
began  to  speak  of  the  new  Association  for  Reform,  by 
the  friends  of  the  people,  headed  by  Messrs.  Grey  and 
Sheridan,  and  sustained  by  Mr.  Fox,  and  openly  opposed 
by  Mr.  Windham,  as  well  as  Mr.  Burke.  He  said  much 
of  the  use  they  had  made  of  his  name,  though  he  had 
never  yet  been  to  the  society  ;  and  I  began  to  understand 
that  he  meant  to  disavow  it ;  but  presently  he  added,  '  I 
don't  know  whether  I  shall  ever  attend — I  have  so  much 
to  do  —  so  little  time;  however,  the  people  must  be 
supported.' 

" '  Pray,  will  you  tell  me,'  said  Mrs.  Crewe  dryly, 
'  what  you  mean  by  the  people  ?     I  never  knew.' 

"  He  looked  surprised,  but  evaded  any  answer,  and  soon 
after  took  his  leave,  with  his  wife,  who  seems  by  no  means 
to  admire  him  as  much  as  he  admires  himself,  if  I  may 
judge  by  short  odd  speeches  which  dropped  from  her. 
The  eminence  of  Mr.  Erskine  seems  all  for  public  life ;  in 
private,  his  excessive  egotisms  undo  him. 

"  Lord  Loughborough  instantly  took  his  seat  next  to 
Mrs.  Crewe  ;  and  presently  related  a  speech  which  Mr. 
Erskine   has  latel}^  made   at  some  public  meeting,  and 


288  French  Reftigees  in  England. 

which  he  opened  to  this  effect: — 'As  to  me,  gentlemen, 
I  have  some  title  to  give  my  opinions  freely.  Would  you 
know  what  my  title  is  derived  from  ?  I  challenge  any 
man  to  inquire  !  If  he  ask  my  birth, — its  genealogy  may 
dispute  with  kings  !  If  my  wealth,  it  is  all  for  which  I 
have  time  to  hold  out  my  hand  !  If  my  talents, — No  !  of 
those,  gentlemen,  I  leave  you  to  judge  for  yourselves  !' 

"  But  I  have  now  time  for  no  more  upon  this  day, 
except  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burke,  in  making  their  exit, 
gave  my  father  and  me  the  most  cordial  invitation  to 
Beaconsfield  in  the  course  of  the  summer  or  autumn. 
And;  indeed,  I  should  delight  to  accept  it." 

The  second  half  of  this  year  was  consumed  by  a  round 
of  visits,  commencing  in  town,  and  ending  in  Norfolk. 
On  leaving  London,  Miss  Burney  accompanied  her  eldest 
sister  into  Essex,  where  they  spent  some  time  together  at 
Halstead  Vicarage.  From  this  place,  Fanny  went  alone 
to  stay  at  Bradfield  Hall,  near  Bury  St.  Edmunds,  with 
the  family  of  the  agriculturist,  Arthur  Young,*  who  had 
married  a  sister  of  the  second  Mrs.  Burney. 

All  over  the  country,  in  the  autumn  of  1792,  two  subjects 
only  were  talked  of,  the  Revolution  in  France,  and  the 
adventures  of  the  emigrants  to  England.  Little  settle- 
ments of  refugees  had  been,  or  were  being,  formed  in 
various  districts.  One  coterie  had  established  themselves 
at  Richmond,  where  they  received  much  attention  from 
Horace  Walpole.  Other  unfortunates  found  their  way  to 
Bury.  A  third  colony,  and  not  the  least  important,  sought 
retirement  in  the  Vale  of  Mickleham.  The  fugitives,  of 
course,  were  not  only  of  different  ranks,  but  of  different 
political    complexions.      The    Revolution    had   begun    to 

*  Born  in  1741,  died  in  1821  ;  author  of  many  works  on  atjiicullural  and 
economical  subjects.  His  "Travels  in  France"  were  published  in  this  very 
year — 1792. 


The  Duke  de  Liancotirt.  289 

devour  its  children ;  and  some  of  the  exiles  had  helped 
to  raise  the  passion  which  swept  them  away.  Suffolk  had 
been  visited  in  the  spring  by  the  celebrated  Countess  of 
Genlis,  governess  to  the  children  of  Philip  Egalite,  Duke 
of  Orleans.  This  lady,  who  was  now  called  Madame  de 
Sillery,  or  Brulard,  hired  a  house  at  Bury  for  herself  and 
her  party,  which  included  an  authentic  Mademoiselle 
d'Orleans,  besides  the  Pamela  who  afterwards  married 
Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  and  another  young  girl.  Her 
establishment  also  comprised  a  number  of  men,  who  were 
treated  by  the  ladies  sometimes  as  servants,  sometimes  as 
equals.  The  vagaries  of  this  curious  household  and  its 
mistress  provoked  comments  which  drove  them  from  the 
county  before  Miss  Burney  entered  it.  It  was  rumoured 
that  Madame  Brulard's  departure  was  hastened  by  the 
arrival  of  the  Duke  de  Liancourt,  who  warmly  denounced 
her  influence  over  her  infamous  protector  as  a  principal 
cause  of  the  French  anarchy.  Yet  the  nobleman  just 
named  was  himself  known  as  a  friend  of  the  people.  He 
it  was  who,  bursting  into  the  King's  closet  to  report  the 
fall  of  the  Bastille,  had  been  the  first  to  utter  the  word 
Revolution.  Arthur  Young,  who,  like  most  other  well-to-do 
Englishmen  at  that  moment,  was  ready  to  forswear  every 
popular  principle  he  had  formerly  professed,  inveighed 
against  the  Duke's  folly,  while  he  pitied  the  misfortunes  of 
a  man  to  whom  his  travels  had  laid  him  under  obligation. 
Fanny  met  the  new-comer  at  her  host's  table,  and  heard 
from  his  own  lips  the  story  of  his  escape  from  France. 
Being  in  command  at  Rouen  when  news  of  the  bloody 
Tenth  of  August  reached  that  city,  and  finding  a  price  set 
on  his  head  by  the  Jacobins,  De  Liancourt,  with  some 
difficulty,  made  his  way  to  the  sea,  where  he  embarked  in 
an  open  boat,  and  set  sail,  covered  with  faggots,  for  the 
opposite  coast.     He  entertained  his  friends  at  Bradfield 

19 


290  The  Settlement  at  Mickleham. 

Hall  with  an  account  of  his  landing  at  Hastings,  describing 
how  he  had  walked  to  the  nearest  public-house,  and,  to 
seem  English,  had  called  for  ^ pot  porfcre,'  and  then,  being 
extremely  thirsty,  for  another ;  how,  overcome  by  the 
strange  liquor,  he  had  been  carried  upstairs  in  a  helpless 
state,  and  put  to  bed  ;  how  he  had  woke  up  before  day- 
break in  a  miserable  room,  and  fancied  himself  in  a  French 
maison  de  force;  how,  on  creeping  cautiously  below,  the 
sight  of  the  kitchen,  with  its  array  of  bright  pewter  plates 
and  polished  saucepans,  had  convinced  him  that  he  must 
be  in  a  more  cleanly  country  than  his  native  land.  What 
had  brought  the  Duke  to  Bury  we  are  not  informed  :  he 
certainly  would  not  have  been  at  home  with  Walpole's 
friends,  who  seem  to  have  been  staunch  adherents  of  the 
ancien  regime. 

Some,  though  not  all,  of  the  strangers  at  Mickleham 
had  advanced  several  degrees  beyond  the  timid  consti- 
tutionalism of  the  Duke  de  Liancourt.  The  origin  and 
early  history  of  this  settlement  were  communicated  to 
Fanny  by  the  journalizing  letters  of  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Phillips.  Two  or  three  families  had  united  to  take  a 
house  near  the  village,  called  Juniper  Hall,  while  another 
family  hired  a  cottage  at  West  Humble,  which  the  owner 
let  with  great  reluctance,  'upon  the  Christian-hke  supposi- 
tion that,  being  nothing  but  French  papishes,  they  would 
never  pay.'  The  party  at  the  cottage  were  presided  over 
by  Madame  de  Broglie,  daughter-in-law  of  the  Marechal 
who  had  commanded  the  Royalist  troops  near  Paris. 
Among  the  first  occupants  of  Juniper  Hall  were  Narbonne, 
recently  Constitutionalist  Minister  of  War,  and  Mont- 
morency, ci-devant  due,  from  whom  had  proceeded  the 
motion  for  suppressing  titles  of  nobility  in  France.  When 
Mrs.  Phillips  made  the  acquaintance  of  her  new  neigh- 
b  ours,   they   had    been    reinforced    by   fresh    arrivals,   in- 


The  Chevalier  (VArblay.  291 

eluding  an  officer  of  whom  she  had  not  yet  heard.  This 
was  M.  d'Arblay,*  who,  Susan  was  told,  had  been  Adjutant- 
General  to  her  favourite  hero,  Lafayette,  when  that  leader 
surrendered  himself  to  the  Allies.  On  the  chief  being  sent 
prisoner  to  Olmutz,  the  subordinate  was  permitted  to 
withdraw  into  Holland,  whence  he  was  now  come  to  join 
his  intimate  friend  and  patron.  Count  Louis  de  Narbonne. 
*  He  is  tall,'  wrote  Mrs.  Phillips  to  her  sister,  '  and  a  good 
figure,  with  an  open  and  manly  countenance  ;  about  forty, 
I  imagine.' 

The  letters  from  Mickleham  were  soon  full  of  this 
General  d'Arblay,  who  won  the  heart  of  good  Mrs.  Phillips 
by  his  amiable  manners,  and  his  attention  to  her  children, 
while  he  fortified  her  in  her  French  politics,  which,  to 
say  the  truth,  were  too  advanced  for  Fanny's  acceptance. 
Both  the  General  and  Narbonne  were  attached  to  their 
unfortunate  master,  but  considered  that  they  had  been 
very  badly  treated  by  Louis,  and  that  it  was  impossible 
to  serve  him,  because  he  could  not  trust  himself,  and  in 
consequence  distrusted  everybody  else.  D'Arblay  had 
been  the  officer  on  guard  at  the  Tuileries  on  the  night  of 
the  famous  Flight  to  Varennes.  He  had  not  been  let 
into  the  secret  of  the  plan,  but  was  left,  without  warning, 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  denounced  and  murdered  for 
having  assisted  the  King's  escape. 

Miss  Burney  was  now  in  Norfolk  with  her  sister 
Charlotte.  But  this  visit  to  her  native  county  proved  the 
reverse  of  joyful.  Soon  after  her  arrival  at  Aylsham,  Mr. 
Francis,  her  brother-in-law,  was  seized  with  an  attack  of 
apoplexy,  which  ended  in  his  death.  During  his  illness, 
she  interested  herself  in  the  accounts  of  Juniper  Hall — 

*  Alexander  d'Arblay  was  born  at  Joigny,  near  Paris.  He  entered  the 
French  artillery  at  thirteen  years  of  age.  He  was  commandant  at  Longwy, 
promoted  into  Narbonne's  regiment,  and  in  1792  made  niarcchal  de  camp,  or,  as 
we  should  say,  brigadier  general. 

ig — 2 


292  Home  Again. 

she  had  already  heard  something  of  M.  d'Arblay  from  the 
Duke  de  Liancourt — but  her  attention  was  mainly  en- 
grossed by  the  distress  of  those  around  her.  When  all 
was  over,  she  remained  to  assist  the  widow  in  settling 
her  affairs,  and  at  the  close  of  the  year  accompanied  her 
and  the  children  to  London. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Miss  Burney  at  Norbury  Park — Execution  of  the  French  King — Madame  de 
Stael  and  Talleyrand  at  Micklehatn — Miss  Burney's  Impressions  of  M. 
d'Arblay — Proposed  Marriage — Visit  to  Chesington — The  Marriage  takes 
place — A  Happy  Match — The  General  as  Gardener — Madame  d'Arblay 
resumes  her  Pen — Birth  of  a  Son — '  Edwy  and  Elgiva' — Acquittal  of  Warren 
Hastings  —  Publishing  Plans  —  The  Subscription  List  —  Publication  of 
'  Camilla ' — Visit  of  the  Author  to  Windsor — Interview  with  the  King  and 
Queen — A  Compliment  from  their  Majesties — The  Royal  Family  on  the 
Terrace — Princess  Elizabeth — Great  Sale  of  '  Camilla  ' — Criticisms  on  the 
Work — Declension  of  Madame  d'Arblay's  Style — ^Camilla  Cottage — Wedded 
Happiness — Madame  d'Arblay's  Comedy  of  '  Love  and  Fashion '  with- 
drawn— Death  of  Mrs.  Phillips — Straitened  Circumstances — The  d'Arblays 
go  to  France — Popularity  of  Bonaparte — Reception  at  the  Tuileries  and 
Review — War  between  England  and  France — Disappointments — Life  at 
Passy — Difficulty  of  Correspondence — Madame  d'Arblay's  Desire  to  return 
to  England — Sails  from  Dunkirk. 

On  the  opening  of  1793,  the  French  Constitutionahsts 
were  at  the  lowest  point  of  depression  and  disgrace. 
They  were  reviled  on  all  hands  for  having  given  weight 
and  impetus  to  a  movement  which  they  were  impotent  to 
control.  Norbury  Park  and  Mickleham  were  eager  that 
Miss  Burney  should  see  their  new  friends  and  judge  them 
for  herself.  "  Your  French  colonies,"  she  wrote  in  reply 
to  Mrs.  Locke's  pressing  invitation,  "  are  truly  attractive  : 
I  am  sure  they  must  be  so  to  have  caught  me — so  sub- 
stantially, fundamentally  the  foe  of  all  their  proceedings 
while  in  power."  Having  tarried  long  enough  to  pay  her 
birthday  duty  to  the  Queen,  she  left  London  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  season,  and  went  down  to  Surrey.  A 
day  or  two  after  her  arrival  came  the  news  of  the  French 
King's  execution.     The  excitement  caused  by  this  intelh- 


2  94  Madame  de  Stael. 

gence  quickened  the  already  frequent  intercourse  between 
the  Lockes  and  Juniper  Hall,  and  Fanny  soon  found  her- 
self on  familiar  terms  with  the  refugees.  Before  the  end 
of  Januar}^  Madame  de  Stael  appeared  on  the  scene,  and 
placed  herself  at  the  head  of  the  little  colony.  Necker's 
daughter  had  earned  the  rage  of  the  Commune  by  her 
exertions  to  save  life  during  the  massacres  of  August  and 
September ;  nor  was  it  at  all  clear  that  the  privilege 
which  she  enjoyed  as  wife  of  the  Swedish  Ambassador 
would  avail  for  her  protection.  She  had,  therefore,  crossed 
the  Channel,  and  now  joined  her  Constitutionalist  friends 
at  Juniper  Hall,  whither  she  was  soon  followed  by  Talley- 
rand, who  had  come  to  England  in  her  compan}^  No 
other  party  of  refugees  could  boast  two  names  of  equal 
distinction,  though  French  titles  had  become  plentiful 
as  blackberries  in  several  parts  of  England.  Madame  de 
Stael  paid  the  most  flattering  attention  to  the  author  of 
'Cecilia,'  whose  second  novel  had  procured  her  consider- 
able reputation  in  Paris.  A  warm  but  short-lived  intimacy 
between  the  two  ladies  ensued.  No  two  persons  could  be 
less  suited  to  one  another  than  our  timid,  prudish  little 
Burney  and  the  brilliant  and  audacious  YxoxvcSx  femme  de 
lettres.  The  public  acts  of  the  Bishop  of  Autun — '  the 
viper  that  had  cast  his  skin,'  as  Walpole  called  him — had 
not  inclined  Fanny  in  his  favour ;  but  his  extraordinary 
powers  conquered  her  admiration,  and  as  she  listened  to 
the  exchanges  of  wit,  criticism,  and  raillery  between  him 
and  Madame  de  Stael,  she  could  see  for  the  moment  no 
blemishes  in  either,  and  looked  on  the  little  band  of 
exiles,  some  of  whom  could  almost  vie  with  these  leaders, 
as  rare  spirits  from  some  brighter  world.  The  group, 
consisting  at   different    times   of  some    dozen    persons,* 

*  Among  other  names,  we  find,  besides  those  already  mentioned,  the 
Marquise  de  la  Chatre,  M.  de  Jaucourt,  M.  Sicard,  the  I'rincesse  d'Henin,  De 
Lally  ToUendal,  Dumont. 


Impressions  of  M.  cTArblay.  295 

were  all  most  agreeable ;  but  one,  perhaps  the  least 
dazzling  of  the  whole  constellation,  proved  more  attrac- 
tive than  the  rest  : 

"M.  d'Arblay,"  wrote  Fanny,  "is  one  of  the  most  singu- 
larly interesting  characters  that  can  ever  have  been 
formed.  He  has  a  sincerity,  a  frankness,  an  ingenuous 
openness  of  nature,  that  I  have  been  unjust  enough  to 
think  could  not  belong  to  a  Frenchman.  With  all  this, 
which  is  his  military  portion,  he  is  passionately  fond  of 
literature,  a  most  delicate  critic  in  his  own  language,  well 
versed  in  both  Italian  and  German,  and  a  very  elegant 
poet.  He  has  just  undertaken  to  become  my  French 
master  for  pronunciation,  and  he  gives  me  long  daily 
lessons  in  reading.  Pray  expect  wonderful  improvements  1 
In  return,  I  hear  him  in  English." 

The  natural  consequences  followed.  In  a  few  days  we 
read  :  "  I  have  been  scholaring  all  day,  and  mastering  too; 
for  our  lessons  are  mutual,  and  more  entertaining  than 
can  easily  be  conceived."  Our  novelist,  in  short,  was 
more  romantic  than  any  of  her  own  creations :  Evelina, 
Cecilia,  and  Camilla  were  prosaic  women  compared  with 
Frances.  On  the  verge  of  forty- one,  she  gave  away  her 
heart  to  an  admirer,  suitable  to  her  in  age,  indeed,  but 
possessing  neither  fortune,  occupation,  nor  prospects  of 
any  kind.  Whatever  property  d'Arblay  could  claim,  the 
Convention  had  confiscated.  Fanny  herself  had  nothing 
but  the  small  annuity  which  she  enjoyed  during  the 
Queen's  pleasure,  and  which  might  be  discontinued  if  she 
married  this  Roman  Catholic  alien.  Such  a  match,  in 
any  case,  implied  seclusion  almost  as  complete  as  that 
from  which  she  had  recently  escaped.  This  was  anything 
but  the  issue  that  her  father  had  been  promised  when  he 
was  pressed  to  sanction  her  resignation.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising, therefore,   that    he  wrote    her    a    remonstrance 


296  Marriage  of  Fanny  Burney. 

stronger  and  more  decided  than  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  addressing  to  any  of  his  children.  But  Dr.  Burney 
stood  alone.  The  Lockes  and  Phillipses  were  as  much 
fascinated  by  their  French  neighbours  as  his  enamoured 
daughter.  Susanna  was  in  avowed  league  with  the  enemy. 
Mr.  Locke  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  two  persons,  with 
one  or  more  babies,  might  very  well  subsist  on  a  hundred 
a  year.  Thus  assailed  by  opposing  influences,  Fanny  went 
to  deliberate  in  solitude  at  Chesington,  and  sauntered 
about  the  lanes  where  she  had  planned  '  Cecilia,'  wonder- 
ing if  the  Muse  would  ever  visit  her  again.  The  General's 
pursuing  letters  convinced  her  that  his  grief  at  her  hesita- 
tion was  sincere  and  profound.  He  made  a  pilgrimage  to 
see  her,  which  vouched  his  devotion,  and  gained  him  the 
support  of  her  simple  hostesses,  Mrs.  Hamilton  and 
Kitty  Cooke,  who  wept  at  his  tale  of  misfortunes,  and 
learned  for  the  first  time  what  was  meant  by  the  French 
Revolution.  Finally,  through  the  mediation  of  his  favourite 
Susanna,  Dr.  Burney  was  persuaded  to  give  way  and  send 
a  reluctant  consent.  The  wedding  took  place  on  the 
31st  of  July,  1793,  in  Mickleham  Church,  in  the  presence 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Locke,  Captain  and  Mrs.  Phillips,  M.  de 
Narbonne,  and  Captain  Burney,  who  acted  as  proxy  for 
his  father.  On  the  following  day,  the  ceremony  was 
repeated  at  the  Sardinian  Chapel  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
according  to  the  rites  of  the  Romish  Church. 

The  marriage  proved  eminently  happy.  Dr.  Burney, 
though  he  shrank  from  giving  away  the  bride,  was  a 
respecter  of  accomplished  facts,  and  soon  became  on 
excellent  terms  with  his  new  son-in-law.  The  late  im- 
petuous lovers  proceeded  to  translate  their  romance  into 
the  most  sober  prose.  Love  in  a  cottage  had  been  the 
goal  of  their  ambition.  Mr.  Locke  had  promised  a  site 
for  the  cottage ;    but  as  funds  for  building  it  were  not 


The  General  as  Gardener.  297 

immediately  forthcoming,  the  pair  went  first  into  farm 
lodgings,  afterwards  into  a  hired  house  of  two  or  three 
rooms  at  Bookham,  within  two  miles  of  Mickleham  and 
Norbury  Park.  D'Arblay,  a  man  of  real  honour,  would 
have  left  his  wife,  almost  in  their  honeymoon,  to  fight  for 
Louis  XVII.  at  Toulon;  but  his  offer  of  service  was 
declined  by  the  English  Government,  and  thenceforth  the 
General  resigned  himself  to  wait  for  better  times.  Like  a 
sensible  man,  il  cultivait  son  jar  din.  Like  a  man  of  sense, 
but  not  hke  a  good  husbandman.  His  wife,  who,  not- 
withstanding her  happiness,  seems  to  have  lost  her  sense 
of  humour  very  soon  after  matrimony,  enjoyed  one  of 
her  last  hearty  laughs  at  the  expense  of  her  lord  : 

"  This  sort  of  work  is  so  totally  new  to  him,  that  he 
receives  every  now  and  then  some  of  poor  Merlin's* 
'disagreeable  comphments';  for  when  Mr.  Locke's  or 
the  Captain's  gardeners  favour  our  grounds  with  a  visit, 
they  commonly  make  known  that  all  has  been  done 
wrong.  Seeds  are  sowing  in  some  parts  when  plants 
ought  to  be  reaping,  and  plants  are  running  to  seed  while 
they  are  thought  not  yet  at  maturity.  Our  garden,  there- 
fore, is  not  yet  quite  the  most  profitable  thing  in  the 
world ;  but  M.  d'A.  assures  me  it  is  to  be  the  staff  of  our 
table  and  existence. 

"  A  little,  too,  he  has  been  unfortunate  ;  for,  after  im- 
mense toil  in  planting  and  transplanting  strawberries 
round  our  hedge  here  at  Bookham,  he  has  just  been 
informed  they  will  bear  no  fruit  the  first  year,  and  the 
second  we  may  be  '  over  the  hills  and  far  away.' 

"  Another  time,  too,  with  great  labour,  he  cleared  a 
considerable  compartment  of  weeds  ;  and  when  it  looked 
clean  and  well,  and  he  showed  his  work  to  the  gardener, 
the   man    said    he   had    demolished   an    asparagus    bed ! 

■•-  A  French  inventor  whom  Fanny  had  met  at  Streatham. 


298       Madame  cC Arblay  Resumes  her  Pen. 

M.  d'A.  protested,  however,  nothing  could  look  more  like 
des  mauvaises  herbes. 

"  His  greatest  passion  is  for  transplanting.  Everything 
we  possess  he  moves  from  one  end  of  the  garden  to 
another  to  produce  better  effects.  Roses  take  place  of 
jessamines,  jessamines  of  honeysuckles,  and  honeysuckles 
of  lilacs,  till  they  have  all  danced  round  as  far  as  the 
space  allows ;  but  whether  the  effect  may  not  be  a 
general  mortality,  summer  only  can  determine. 

"  Such  is  our  horticultural  history.  But  I  must  not 
omit  that  we  have  had  for  one  week  cabbages  from  our 
own  cultivation  every  day !  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  how 
sweet  they  tasted  !  We  agreed  they  had  a  freshness  and 
a  goiU  we  had  never  met  with  before.  We  had  them  for 
too  short  a  time  to  grow  tired  of  them,  because,  as  I 
have  already  hinted,  they  were  beginning  to  run  to  seed 
before  we  knew  they  were  eatable." 

While  the  General  was  gardening,  Madame  plied  her 
pen,  using  it  once  more,  after  the  lapse  of  a  dozen  years, 
with  a  definite  purpose  of  publication.  Her  first  com- 
position was  for  a  charitable  object.  It  was  an  address 
to  the  ladies  of  England  on  behalf  of  the  emigrant 
French  clergy,  who,  to  the  number  of  6,000,  were  suffer- 
ing terrible  distress  all  over  the  country.  This  short 
paper  is  an  early  example  of  the  stilted  rhetoric  which 
gradually  ruined  its  author's  style.  Some  months  later 
we  hear  of  a  more  important  work  being  in  progress. 
This  tale,  eventually  published  under  the  title  of  '  Camilla,' 
was  commenced  in  the  summer  of  1794,  though  it  did 
not  see  the  light  till  July,  1796. 

A  son,  their  only  child,  was  born  on  December  18, 1794, 
and  was  baptized  Alexander  Charles  Louis  Piochard,  re- 
ceiving the  name  of  his  father,  with  those  of  his  two  god- 
fathers. Dr.  Charles  Burney  the  younger,  and  the  Count 
de  Narbonne. 


Edwy  and  Elgiva.  299 

An  illness,  which  retarded  the  mother's  recovery,  in- 
terrupted the  progress  of  her  novel,  and  perhaps  counted 
for  something  in  the  failure  of  the  tragedy  with  which,  as 
we  mentioned  before,  she  tempted  fortune  on  the  stage. 
'  Edwy  and  Elgiva  ' — so  this  drama  was  called— was  pro- 
duced at  Drury  Lane  on  March  21,  1795.  It  says  much 
for  the  author's  repute  that  John  Kemble  warmly  recom- 
mended her  work  to  Sheridan,  who  seems  to  have  ac- 
cepted it  without  hesitation  or  criticism.  The  principal 
characters  were  undertaken  by  Kemble  and  Mrs.  Siddons. 
At  the  close  of  the  performance,  it  was  announced  that 
the  piece  was  withdrawn  for  alterations.  There  was  a 
little  complaint  that  several  of  the  actors  were  careless 
and  unprepared  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  Madame  d'Arblay 
bore  her  defeat  with  excellent  temper.  She  consoled 
herself  with  the  thought  that  her  play  had  not  been 
written  for  the  theatre,  nor  even  revised  for  the  press  ; 
that  the  manuscript  had  been  obtained  from  her  during 
her  confinement  ;  and  that  she  had  been  prevented  by  ill- 
health  from  attending  rehearsals,  and  making  the  changes 
which,  on  the  night  of  representation,  even  her  unpro- 
fessional judgment  perceived  to  be  essential.  Yet  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  that  a  tragedy  by  the  author  of 
*  Evelina '  could,  under  any  circumstances,  have  been 
successful ;  and  we  are  more  surprised  that  Sheridan  was 
so  complaisant  than  that  Dr.  Burney  had  always  shrugged 
his  shoulders  when  the  Saxon  drama  was  mentioned  in 
his  hearing. 

Three  years  sooner  the  dramatist  would  have  felt  her 
personal  mishap  more  keenly,  as  she  would  have  welcomed 
with  far  livelier  pleasure  an  event  of  a  public  nature  which 
occurred  shortly  afterwards.  On  April  23,  1795,  Warren 
Hastings  was  triumphantly  acquitted.  The  incident 
hardly  stirred  her  at  all.     She  was  now  experiencing  that 


300  PMblishing  Plans. 

detachment  which  is  the  portion  of  ladies  even  of  social 
and  literary  tastes,  when  they  have  accomplished  the 
great  function  of  womanhood.  Her  father  writes  her  a 
pleasant  account  of  his  London  life,  relating  some  charac- 
teristic condolences  which  he  had  received  from  Cumber- 
land on  the  fate  of  her  play,  mentioning  his  own  visit  of 
congratulation  to  Hastings,  and  chatting  about  the  doings 
at  the  Literary  Club.  The  blissful  mother  replies  in  a 
letter,  dated  from  the  '  Hermitage,  Bookham,'  which  is 
principally  occupied  with  praises  of  rural  retirement  and 
the  intelligent  infant,  though  it  ends  with  some  words 
about  the  tragedy,  and  a  postscript  expressing  satisfaction 
at  the  acquittal.  Not  long  before,  Frances  Burney  had 
repined  at  living  in  what  she  rather  inaptly  called  a 
monastery  :  Frances  d'Arblay  is  more  than  content  with 
the  company  of  her  gardener  and  their  little  '  perennial 
plant.'  At  her  marriage,  she  had  counted  on  having  the 
constant  society  of  Susanna  and  her  Captain,  as  well  as 
the  Lockes  ;  but  in  June,  1795?  the  Fhillipses  remove  to 
town,  and  are  not  missed.  The  Bambino  not  only  sup- 
plied all  gaps,  but  made  his  willing  slave  work  as  hard  at 
'  Camilla '  as,  long  years  before,  she  had  worked  at 
'  Cecilia '  under  the  jealous  eye  of  her  Chesington 
daddy. 

She  was  now  as  keen  as  Crisp  would  have  had  her  be 
in  calculating  how  she  could  make  most  money  by  her 
pen.  '  I  determined,'  she  says,  *  when  I  changed  my 
state,  to  set  aside  all  my  innate  and  original  abhorrences, 
and  to  regard  and  use  as  resources  myself  what  had 
always  been  considered  as  such  by  others.  Without  this 
idea  and  this  resolution,  our  hermitage  must  have  been 
madness.'  She  had  formerly  objected  to  a  plan,  suggested 
for  her  by  Burke,  of  publishing  by  subscription,  with  the 
aid  of  ladies,   instead  of  booksellers,  to  keep  lists  and 


The  Subscription  List.  301 

receive  names  of  subscribers.  She  determined  to  adopt 
this  plan  in  bringing  out  '  Camilla.'  The  Dowager 
Duchess  of  Leinster,  Mrs.  Boscawen,  Mrs.  Crewe,  and 
Mrs.  Locke,  gave  her  the  required  assistance.  In  issuing 
her  proposals,  she  was  careful  not  to  excite  the  prejudice 
which  still  prevailed  against  works  of  fiction.*  She  re- 
membered that  the  word  novel  had  long  stood  in  the  way 
of  '  Ceciha '  at  Windsor,  and  that  the  Princesses  had 
not  been  allowed  to  read  it  until  it  had  been  declared 
innocent  by  a  bishop.  '  Camilla,'  she  warned  her  friends, 
was  '  not  to  be  a  romance,  but  sketches  of  characters 
and  morals  put  in  action.'  It  was,  therefore,  announced 
simply  as  *  a  new  work  by  the  author  of  Evelina  and 
Cecilia.'  The  manuscript  was  completed  by  the  end 
of  1795  ;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  '  Cecilia,'  six  months 
more  elapsed  before  the  day  of  publication  arrived. 

Meanwhile,  the  subscription-list  filled  up  nobly.  When 
Warren  Hastings  heard  what  was  going  forward,  we  are 
told  that  "he  gave  a  great  jump,  and  exclaimed,  'Well, 
then,  now  I  can  serve  her,  thank  Heaven,  and  I  will !  I 
will  write  to  Anderson  to  engage  Scotland,  and  I  will 
attack  the  East  Indies  myself!'"  Nor  was  Edmund 
Burke  less  zealous  than  his  old  enemy.  Protesting  that 
for  personal  friends  the  subscription  ought  to  be  five 
guineas  instead  of  one,  he  asked  for  but  one  copy  of 
*  Camilla  '  in  return  for  twenty  guineas  which  he  sent  on 
behalf  of  himself,  his  wife,  his  dead  brother  Richard,  and 
the  son  for  whom  he  was  in  mourning.  In  the  same 
spirit,  three  Misses  Thrale  order  ten  sets  of  the  book. 
As  we  glance  down  the  pages  of  the  list,  we  meet  with 

*  How  strong  this  prejudice  continued  to  be  was  shown  not  long  afterwards 
in  a  notable  instance.  Jane  Austen's  father  offered  her  '  Pride  and  Prejudice  ' 
to  Cadell  on  November  i,  1797  ;  the  proposal  was  rejected  by  return  of  post, 
without  an  inspection  of  the  manuscript,  though  Mr.  Austen  was  willing  to 
bear  the  risk  of  the  publication. 


3© 2       Interview  with  the  King  and  Queen. 

most  of  the  survivors  of  the  old  Blue  Stockings,  with 
Mrs.  Carter,  Mrs.  Chapone,  Mrs.  Montagu,  and  Hannah 
Moore.  There,  too,  are  many  literary  women  of  other 
types  :  Anna  Barbauld,  Amelia  Alderson,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Opie,  Mary  Berry,  Maria  Edgeworth,  Sophia  and 
Harriet  Lee.*  There  the  incomparable  Jane  Austen, 
then  a  girl  of  twenty,  pays  tribute  to  a  passed  mistress  of 
her  future  art.  There  also  figure  the  names  of  many  of 
the  writer's  former  colleagues  in  the  royal  household. 
Even  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  is  on  the  list.  Perhaps,  as  the 
book  was  to  be  dedicated  by  permission  to  the  Queen, 
this  was  almost  a  matter  of  course.  But  the  subscrip- 
tion was,  in  fact,  a  testimonial  to  a  general  favourite  from 
hundreds  of  attached  friends,  some  of  whom  cared  little 
for  literature  ;  as  well  as  from  a  crowd  of  distant  admirers, 
who  regarded  her  as  the  most  eminent  female  writer  of 
her  time. 

The  first  parcel  of  '  Camilla  ;  or,  A  Picture  of  Youth,' 
reached  Bookham  on  an  early  day  in  July,  1796  ;  and 
Madame  d'Arblay  at  once  set  off  for  Windsor  to  present 
copies  to  the  King  and  Queen.  Immediately  on  her 
arrival,  she  was  admitted  to  an  audience  of  the  Queen, 
during  which  the  King  entered  to  receive  his  share  of  the 
offering.  The  excellent  monarch  was  in  one  of  his  most 
interrogative  moods,  and  particularly  curious  to  learn 
who  had  corrected  the  proofs  of  the  volumes  before  him. 
His  flattered  subject  confessed  that  she  was  her  own 
reader.  '  Why,  some  authors  have  told  me,'  cried  he, 
'  that  they  are  the  last  to  do  that  work  for  themselves  ! 
They  know  so  well  by  heart  what  ought  to  be,  that  they 
run  on  without  seeing  what  is.  They  have  told  me, 
besides,  that  a  mere  plodding  head  is  best  and  surest  for 
that  work,  and  that  the  livelier  the  imagination,  the  less 
*  Author  of  the  '  Canterbury  Tales.' 


A   Compliment  from  their  Majesties.        303 

it  should  be  trusted  to.'  Madame  had  carried  her 
husband  with  her  to  Windsor.  They  were  detained 
there  three  days  ;  and,  as  Walpole  remarks  with  some 
emphasis,  even  M.  d'Arblay  was  allowed  to  dine.  Horace 
means,  of  course,  that  the  General,  who  had  the  Cross  of 
St.  Louis,  was  invited  to  a  place  at  Mdlle.  Jacobi's  table. 
Just  before  dinner,  Madame  d'Arblay  was  called  aside  by 
her  entertainer,  and  presented,  in  the  name  of  their 
Majesties,  with  a  packet  containing  a  hundred  guineas, 
as  a  '  compliment '  in  acknowledgment  of  her  dedication. 
On  the  following  day,  the  Chevalier  and  his  wife 
repaired  to  the  Terrace.  "The  evening  was  so  raw  and 
cold  that  there  was  very  little  company,  and  scarce  any 
expectation  of  the  Royal  Family ;  and  when  we  had 
been  there  about  half  an  hour  the  musicians  retreated, 
and  everybody  was  preparing  to  follow,  when  a  messenger 
suddenly  came  forward,  helter-skelter,  running  after  the 
horns  and  clarionets,  and  hallooing  to  them  to  return. 
This  brought  back  the  straggling  parties,  and  the  King, 
Duke  of  York,  and  six  Princesses  soon  appeared  .... 
The  King  stopped  to  speak  to  the  Bishop  of  Norwich* 
and  some  others  at  the  entrance,  and  then  walked  on 
towards  us,  who  were  at  the  further  end.  As  he  ap- 
proached, the  Princess  Royal  said,  '  Madame  d'Arblay, 
sir ;'  and  instantly  he  came  on  a  step,  and  then  stopped 
and  addressed  me,  and  after  a  word  or  two  of  the 
weather,  he  said,  '  Is  that  M.  d'Arblay  ?'  and  most 
graciously  bowed  to  him,  and  entered  into  a  little  con- 
versation, demanding  how  long  he  had  been  in  England, 
how  long  in  the  country,  etc.  Upon  the  King's  bowing 
and  leaving  us,  the  Commander-in-Chief  most  courteously 
bowed  also  to  M.  d'Arblay  ;  and  the  Princesses  all  came 

*  Dr.  Manners  Sutton,  then  also  Dean  of  Windsor,  and  afterwards  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury. 


304  Great  Sale  of  *  Camilla^ 

up  to  speak  to  me,  and  to  curtsey  to  him,  and  the 
Princess  Elizabeth  cried,  '  I've  got  leave  !  and  mamma 
says  she  won't  wait  to  read  it  first  !'  " 

The  lively  Princess,  who  was  then  twenty-six  years  of 
age,  and  had  been  concerned  in  bringing  out  a  poem 
entitled  the  '  Birth  of  Love,'  with  engravings  from 
designs  by  herself,  intended  to  communicate  that  she  had 
obtained  permission  to  read  '  Camilla,'  though  it  had  not 
yet  been  examined  by  her  mother. 

The  subscribers  to  the  new  novel  exceeded  eleven 
hundred  ;  but  the  number  of  copies  printed  was  four 
thousand.  Out  of  these  only  five  hundred  remained  at 
the  end  of  three  months — a  rate  of  sale  considerably 
more  rapid  than  that  of  '  Cecilia  '  had  been.  Macaulay 
mentions  a  rumour  that  the  author  cleared  more  than 
three  thousand  guineas  by  her  work.  This  is  not  an 
improbable  account  ;  for  Dr.  Burney  told  Lord  Orford 
within  the  first  six  weeks  that  about  two  thousand  pounds 
had  already  been  realized.*  The  material  results  were 
astonishing ;  yet  '  Camilla '  could  not  be  considered  a 
success.  The  *  Picture  of  Youth  '  had  neither  the  fresh- 
ness of  '  Evelina,'  nor  the  mature  power  of  '  Cecilia.'  It 
was  wanting  alike  in  simplicity  and  polish.  By  disuse  of 
her  art,  the  writer  had  lost  touch  with  the  public ;  by 
neglect  of  reading,  she  had  gone  back  in  literary  culture. 
Hence  it  was  generally  felt  that  the  charm  which  she  had 
exercised  was  gone.  The  reviews  were  severe ;  new 
admirers  appeared  not  ;  old  friends  found  their  faith  a 
good  deal  tried.  When  the  first  demand  was  satisfied, 
there  seems  to  have  been  no  call  for  a  fresh  edition, 
though  some  years  afterwards  Miss  Austen  boldly  coupledt 

*  Lord  Orford  to  Miss  Berry,  Aug.  16,  1796. 

t  In  '  Nortlianger  Abbey,'  which,  though   written  in  1798,  was  not  prepared 
for  the  press  till  1803. 


Criticis7ns  on  the   Work.  305 

*  Camilla '  with  '  Cecilia '  as  a  *  work  in  which  most 
thorough  knowledge  of  human  nature,  the  happiest 
delineation  of  its  varieties,  the  liveliest  effusions  of  wit 
and  humour  are  conveyed  to  the  world.'  When  its  five 
volumes  were  most  sharply  handled,  brother  Charles 
could  console  the  chagrined  author  with  the  distich  : 

'  Now  heed  no  more  what  critics  thought  'em. 
Since  this  you  know,  all  people  bought  'em.' 

The  composition  of  '  Camilla '  has  been  blamed  for 
the  opposite  faults  of  affectation  and  slovenliness.  '  Every 
passage,'  says  Macaulay,  '  which  the  author  meant  to  be 
fine  is  detestable ;  and  the  book  has  been  saved  from 
condemnation  only  by  the  admirable  spirit  and  force  of 
those  scenes  in  which  she  was  content  to  be  familiar.' 
Other  censors  have  observed  that,  while  the  rhetoric  is 
inflated,  the  grammar  is  occasionally  doubtful,  and  the 
diction  sometimes  barbarous.  Now,  it  must  be  owned 
that  the  ordinary  vocabulary  of  the  Burneys  was  not 
remarkable  for  purity  or  elegance.  In  their  talk  and 
intimate  letters,  both  the  father  and  the  daughters  ex- 
pressed themselves  in  the  most  colloquial  forms,  not 
seldom  lapsing  into  downright  slang.  To  ^\yQ  one  in- 
stance only,  the  atrocious  vulgarism  of  '  an  invite '  for 
'  an  invitation '  occurs  in  several  parts  of  the  Diar}^ 
When  writing  for  the  press,  Dr.  Burney  guarded  himself 
by  the  adoption  of  a  wholly  artificial  style,  that  swelled, 
from  time  to  time,  into  tedious  magniloquence.  Fanny 
was  schooled  for  writing  '  Cecilia '  by  the  critical  discus- 
sions of  the  Streatham  circle,  by  much  intercourse  with 
Johnson,  and  by  some  study  of  style — chiefly  the  style  of 
the  *  Ramblers '  and  '  Lives  of  the  Poets.'  Having 
despatched  her  second  novel,  she  ceased  to  be  careful 
about  literary  questions.  This  indifference  increased  after 
her  marriage.    When  describing  the  reception  of '  Camilla ' 

20 


3o6  Madame  cV Arblays  Style. 

at  Windsor,  '  the  Queen,'  she  writes,  '  talked  of  some 
books  and  authors,  but  found  me  wholly  in  the  clouds  as 
to  all  that  is  new.'  Her  husband,  insensible,  of  course, 
to  the  niceties  of  a  foreign  idiom,  but  apparently  admiring 
pompous  phraseology,  conceived  a  relish  for  Dr.  Burney's 
style  ;  and  Madame,  delighting  to  think  her  *  dear  father  ' 
perfect,  was  pleased  to  place  his  English  in  the  very  first 
class.*  The  eloquence  of  '  Camilla '  seems  to  mingle 
faint  Johnsonian  echoes  with  the  stilted  movement  of 
the  music-master's  prose  ;  while  too  often  the  choice  of 
words  is  left  to  chance.  A  recent  editor  of  the  two 
earlier  novels  has  called  attention  to  the  numerous 
vulgarities  of  expression,  not  put  into  vulgar  mouths, 
which  occur  in  'Camilla.'  'People  " stroam  the  fields," 
or  have  "  a  depressing /jc/." '  This  editor  suggests  that 
Miss  Burney's  five  years  at  Court  may  have  done  much 
to  spoil  her  English,  remarking  that  *  she  lived  at 
Windsor  among  hybrids.'  By  '  hybrids  '  we  suppose  we 
are  to  understand  equerries.  But  the  equerries,  if  not 
possessing  great  culture,  were,  at  any  rate,  gentlemen  of 
good  position.  If  they  used  the  incriminated  phrases 
why  not  also  the  personages  of  the  novel  ?  We  take  it, 
however,  that  '  to  stroam  the  fields  '  is  not  a  low  phrase 
acquired  by  Fanny  at  Court,  but  a  provincialism  which 
she  learned  in  her  native  county,  where  the  verb  to 
'  stroam,'  or  to  *  strome,'  was  certainly  in  use  a  hundred 
years  ago,"}*  and  is,  we  are  assured,  familiarly  employed  at 
the  present  day.  We  believe  that  Madame  d'Arblay's 
English  was  ruined,  not  by  associating  with  Colonel 
Digby,  or  even  Colonel  Manners,  but  by  neglect  of 
reading,  by  retirement  from  lettered  society,  by  fading 
recollections  of  Johnson,  by  untoward  family  influences, 
and  by  a  strong  hereditary  tendency  to  run  into  fustian. 

*  Diary,  iv,  3.  t  Forby's  '  Vocabulary  of  East  Aiiglia, '  p.  330. 


Comedy  of  '  Love  and  FasJiion!  307 

In  October,  1796,  Dr.  Burney  lost  his  second  wife,  who, 
after  a  prolonged  period  of  ill-health,  died  at  Chelsea 
Hospital.  To  prevent  him  from  brooding  over  his 
bereavement,  Madame  d'Arblay  induced  her  father  to 
resume  a  poetical  history  of  astronomy  which  he  had 
begun  some  time  before.  This  occupation  amused  him 
for  some  time,  though  in  the  end  the  poem,  which  ran  to 
a  great  length,  was  destroyed  unfinished. 

Out  of  the  profits  made  by  his  wife's  publication,  jM. 
d'Arblay  built  a  small  house  on  land  leased  to  him  by  Mr. 
Locke  at  West  Humble,  near  Dorking,  and  called  it 
Camilla  Cottage.  If  a  family,  as  well  as  a  nation,  is 
happy  that  has  no  history,  we  must  conclude  that  the 
d'Arblays  lived  very  much  at  ease  for  some  years  after 
their  removal  to  their  new  abode.  When  the  excitement 
of  planning,  building,  and  taking  possession  is  exhausted, 
Madame's  pen  finds  little  to  record,  beyond  the  details  of 
occasional  interviews  with  the  Queen  and  Princesses  at 
Buckingham  House.  She  wisely  declines  a  proposal  of 
Mrs.  Crewe  to  make  her  directress  of  a  weekly  paper, 
which  was  to  have  been  started,  under  the  name  of  The 
Breakfast -Table,  to  combat  the  progress  of  Jacobinical 
ideas.  Later  on  she  abandons  unwillingly  a  venture  of  a 
different  kind.  Still  thirsting  for  dramatic  success,  she 
had  written  a  comedy  called  '  Love  and  Fashion ;'  and 
towards  the  close  of  1799  was  congratulating  herself  on 
having  it  accepted  by  the  manager  of  Covent  Garden 
Theatre.^  The  piece  was  put  into  rehearsal  early  in  the 
following  spring ;  but  Dr.  Burney  was  seized  with  such 
dread  of  another  failure,  that,  to  appease  him,  his 
daughter  and  her  husband  consented  to  its  being  with- 
drawn.    The  compliance  cost   some  effort :  Fanny  com- 

*  According  to  her  biographer,  the  manager  had  promised  her  ^{'400  for  the 
light  of  representation. 

20 — 2 


3o8  Straitened  Circumstances. 

plained  that  she  was  treated  as  if  she  *  had  been  guilty 
of  a  crime,  in  doing  what  she  had  all  her  hfe  been  urged 
to,  and  all  her  life  intended — writing  a  comedy."  '  The 
combinations,'  she  added,  '  for  another  long  work  did 
not  occur  to  me  :  incidents  and  effects  for  a  drama 
did.' 

This  was  only  a  transient  disappointment.  In  the  first 
days  of  1800  came  a  lasting  sorrow,  in  the  loss  of  Mrs. 
Phillips,  who,  since  the  autumn  of  1796,  had  been  living 
with  her  husband  in  Ireland,  and  who  died  immediately 
after  landing  in  England  on  her  way  to  visit  her  father.* 
But,  except  by  this  grief,  the  peace  of  Camilla  Cottage 
was  never  interrupted  so  long  as  the  husband  and  wife 
remained  together.  In  her  old  age,  Madame  d'Arblay 
looked  back  to  the  first  eight  years  of  her  married  life  as 
to  a  period  of  unruffled  happiness. 

Then  occurred  a  crisis.  The  d'Arblays  had  borne 
poverty  cheerfully,  even  joyfully,  so  long  as  any  stretch 
of  economy  would  enable  them  to  keep  within  their 
income.  The  cost  of  living  and  the  burden  of  taxation 
had  begun  to  increase  almost  from  the  day  of  their 
marriage.  One  of  the  motives  for  bringing  out  '  Camilla  ' 
was  the  rise  of  prices,  which  had  doubled  within  the 
preceding  eighteen  months.  Hardly  was  Camilla  Cottage 
occupied,  when  an  addition  to  the  window-tax  compelled 
the  owners  to  block  up  four  of  their  new  windows.  The 
expense  of  building  so  much  exceeded  calculation  that, 
after  all  bills  were  settled,  the  balance  remaining  from  the 
foundress's  three  thousand  guineas  produced  only  a  few 
pounds  of  annual  interest.  In  the  spring  of  1800,  we  read 
that  the  gardener  has  planted  potatoes  on  every  spot  where 
they  can  grow,  on  account  of  the  dreadful  price  of  pro- 

*  Her  death  took  place  on  January  6,  l8oo;  she  was  buried  in  Neston 
churchyard,  where  Dr.  Burney  placed  an  epitaph  to  her  memory. 


The  d' Arblays  in  Paris.  309 

visions.  Towards  the  close  of  1801,  it  is  admitted  that  for 
some  time  previousl}'  they  had  been  encroaching  on  their 
Httle  capital,  which  was  then  nearly  exhausted.  As  soon, 
therefore,  as  the  preliminaries  of  peace  were  signed. 
M.  d'Arblay  determined  to  remove  his  family  to  France, 
hoping  to  recover  something  from  the  wreck  of  his 
fortune,  and  to  obtain  from  the  First  Consul  some  allow- 
ance for  half-pay  as  a  retired  officer.  Crossing  the  Channel 
alone,  in  the  iirst  instance,  the  General  involved  himself 
in  a  double  difficulty :  he  failed  with  the  French  Govern- 
ment by  stipulating  that  he  should  not  be  required  to 
serve  against  his  wife's  country,  while  he  had  cut  off  his 
retreat  by  pledging  himself  at  the  English  Alien  Office 
not  to  return  within  a  year.  In  this  dilemma,  he  wrote 
to  his  wife  to  join  him  in  Paris  with  their  child.  Madame 
d'Arblay  obeyed  the  summons,  amidst  the  anxious  fore- 
bodings of  her  father,  but  with  the  full  approval  of  the 
Queen,  who  granted  her  a  farewell  audience,  admitting 
that  she  was  bound  to  follow  her  husband. 

Dr.  Burney's  fears  were  more  than  justified  by  the 
event.  His  daughter  left  Dover  a  few  days  after  the 
treaty  was  signed  at  Amiens.  When  she  reached  Paris, 
she  found  the  city  rejoicing  at  the  conclusion  of  the  war, 
yet  worshipping  Bonaparte,  whose  temper  and  attitude 
showed  that  the  peace  could  not  last.  A  reception  by 
the  First  Consul,  followed  by  a  review,  both  of  which 
Madame  d'Arblay  witnessed  from  an  ante-chamber  in  the 
Tuileries,  afforded  striking  evidence  of  the  military  spirit 
which  animated  everything : 

"  The  scene,  with  regard  to  all  that  was  present,  was 
splendidly  gay  and  highly  animating.  The  room  was 
full,  but  not  crowded,  with  officers  of  rank  in  sumptuous 
rather  than  rich  uniforms,  and    exhibiting  a  martial  air 


3IO  A  Reception  at  the   Tuileries. 

that  became  their  attire,  which,  however,  generally  speak- 
ing, was  too  gorgeous  to  be  noble. 

"  Our  window  was  that  next  to  the  consular  apartment, 
in  which  Bonaparte  was  holding  a  levee,  and  it  was  close 
to  the  steps  ascending  to  it ;  by  which  means  we  saw  all 
the  forms  of  the  various  exits  and  entrances,  and  had 
opportunity  to  examine  every  dress  and  every  countenance 
that  passed  and  repassed.  This  was  highly  amusing,  I 
might  say  historic,  where  the  past  history  and  the  present 
office  were  known. 

"  Sundry  footmen  of  the  First  Consul,  in  very  fine 
liveries,  were  attending  to  bring  or  arrange  chairs  for 
whoever  required  them  ;  various  peace-officers,  superbly 
begilt,  paraded  occasionally  up  and  down  the  chamber,  to 
keep  the  ladies  to  their  windows  and  the  gentlemen  to 
their  ranks,  so  as  to  preserve  the  passage  or  lane,  through 
which  the  First  Consul  was  to  walk  upon  his  entrance, 
clear  and  open ;  and  several  gentlemanlike-looking  persons, 
whom  in  former  times  I  should  have  supposed  pages  of 
the  back-stairs,  dressed  in  black,  with  gold  chains  hang- 
ing round  their  necks,  and  medallions  pending  from  them, 
seemed  to  have  the  charge  of  the  door  itself,  leading 
immediately  to  the  audience  chamber  of  the  First  Consul. 

"  But  what  was  most  prominent  in  commanding  notice, 
was  the  array  of  the  aides-de-camp  of  Bonaparte,  which 
was  so  almost  furiously  striking,  that  all  other  vestments, 
even  the  most , gaudy,  appeared  suddenly  under  a  gloomy 
cloud  when  contrasted  with  its  brightness  .... 

"  The  last  object  for  whom  the  way  was  cleared  was  the 
Second  Consul,  Cambaceres,  who  advanced  with  a  stately 
and  solemn  pace,  slow,  regular,  and  consequential;  dressed 
richly  in  scarlet  and  gold,  and  never  looking  to  the  right 
or  left,  but  wearing  a  mien  of  fixed  gravity  and  import- 


Napoleon  Bonaparte^  3 1  r 

ance.  He  had  several  persons  in  his  suite,  who,  I  think,, 
but  am  not  sure,  were  ministers  of  state. 

"  At  length  the  two  human  hedges  were  finally  formed^ 
the  door  of  the  audience  chamber  was  thrown  wide  open 
with  a  commanding  crash,  and  a  vivacious  officer — 
sentinel — or  I  know  not  what,  nimbly  descended  the 
three  steps  into  our  apartment,  and  placing  himself  at 
the  side  of  the  door,  with  one  hand  spread  as  high  as 
possiblte  above  his  head,  and  the  other  extended  hori- 
zontally, called  out  in  a  loud  and  authoritative  voice, 
'  Le  Premier  Consul !' 

"  You  will  easily  believe  nothing  more  was  necessary  to 
obtain  attention ;  not  a  soul  either  spoke  or  stirred  as  he 
and  his  suite  passed  along,  which  was  so  quickly  that,  had 
I  not  been  placed  so  near  the  door,  and  had  not  all  about 
me  facilitated  my  standing  foremost,  and  being  least 
crowd-obstructed,  I  could  hardly  have  seen  him.  As  it 
was,  I  had  a  view  so  near,  though  so  brief,  of  his  face,  as 
to  be  very  much  struck  by  it.  It  is  of  a  deeply  impressive 
cast,  pale  even  to  sallowness,  while  not  only  in  the  eye, 
but  in  every  feature — care,  thought,  melancholy,  and 
meditation  are  strongly  marked,  with  so  much  of  cha- 
racter, nay,  genius,  and  so  penetrating  a  seriousness,  or 
rather  sadness,  as  powerfully  to  sink  into  an  observer's 
mind.  .  .  . 

"  The  review  I  shall  attempt  no  description  of.  I  have 
no  knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  no  fondness  for  its 
object.  It  was  far  more  superb  than  anything  I  had  ever 
beheld ;  but  while  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war 
animated  others,  it  only  saddened  me ;  and  all  of  past 
reflection,  all  of  future  dread,  made  the  whole  grandeur 
of  the  martial  scene,  and  all  the  delusive  seduction  of 
martial  music,  fill  my  eyes  frequently  with  tears,  but  not 
regale  my  poor  muscles  with  one  single  smile. 


312  Life  at  Passy. 

"  Bonaparte,  mounting  a  beautiful  and  spirited  white 
horse,  closely  encircled  by  his  glittering  aides-de-camp, 
and  accompanied  by  his  generals,  rode  round  the  ranks, 
holding  his  bridle  indifferently  in  either  hand,  and  seem- 
ing utterly  careless  of  the  prancing,  rearing,  or  other 
freaks  of  his  horse,  insomuch  as  to  strike  some  who  were 
near  me  with  a  notion  of  his  being  a  bad  horseman." 

Having  introduced  his  wife  to  old  friends  in  Paris,  and 
paid  a  visit  with  her  to  his  relations  at  Joigny,  the  General 
settled  his  family  in  a  small  house  at  Passy.  Instead  of 
being  seen  at  Chelsea  again  within  eighteen  months,  as 
her  father  had  been  led  to  expect,  she  was  detained  in 
France  more  than  ten  years.  From  the  moment  when 
Lord  Whitworth  quitted  Paris  in  May,  1803,  her  oppor- 
tunities of  communicating  with  England  were  few  and  far 
between.  All  remittances  thence,  including  her  annuity, 
ended  with  the  peace.  The  claims  to  property  on  which 
her  husband  had  built  proved  delusive.  Apparently  they 
would  have  been  without  means  of  any  kind,  but  that, 
just  as  war  was  declared,  the  influence  of  General  Lauris- 
ton  procured  for  his  old  comrade  the  retraite,  or  retiring 
allowance,  for  which  the  latter  had  been  petitioning.  Yet 
this  only  amounted  to  £"62  los.  yearly,  so  that  the  luckless 
pair  would  have  been  far  better  off  in  their  cottage  at 
West  Humble.  Moreover,  the  receipt  of  half-pay  made 
it  impossible  for  them  to  risk  an}-  attempt  at  escape  while 
the  war  continued.  At  length,  in  1805,  M.  d'Arblay  ob- 
tained employment  in  the  Civil  Department  of  the  Office 
of  Public  Buildings.  He  became,  in  fact,  a  Government 
clerk,  plodding  daily  between  his  desk  and  a  poorly- 
furnished  home  at  suburban  Passy.  He  seems  to  have 
been  eventually  promoted  to  the  rank  of  sous-chef  in  his 
department. 


Difficulty  of  Correspondence.  313 

We  learn,  however,  from  the  scanty  notices  belonging 
to  this  period,  that  the  Chevalier  was  treated  with  con- 
sideration by  the  heads  of  his  office,  and  that  he  and 
Madame  kept  their  footing  in  Parisian  society.  '  The 
society  in  which  I  mix,'  writes  the  lady,  '  when  I  can 
prevail  with  myself  to  quit  my  yet  dearer  fireside,  is  all 
that  can  be  wished,  whether  for  wit,  wisdom,  intelligence, 
gaiety,  or  politeness.'  She  would  resume,  she  adds,  her 
old  descriptions  if  she  could  only  write  more  frequently, 
or  with  more  security  that  she  was  not  writing  to  the 
winds  and  the  waves.  Her  worst  distress  was  the  rarity 
with  which  letters  could  be  despatched,  or  travel  either 
way,  with  anything  like  safety.  At  another  time  she  tells 
her  father  :  '  I  have  never  heard  whether  the  last  six  letters 
I  have  written  have  as  yet  been  received.  Two  of  them 
were  antiques  that  had  waited  three  or  four  years  some 
opportunity  ....  the  two  last  were  to  reach  you  through 
a  voyage  by  America.'  The  very  letter  in  which  this  is  said 
lost  its  chance  of  being  sent,  and  was  not  finished  till  a 
year  later.  Dr.  Burney,  in  his  fear  of  a  miscarriage, 
finally  gave  up  writing,  and  charged  his  family  and  friends 
to  follow  his  example.  Fanny  had  nothing  to  regret  in 
her  husband,  except  his  being  overworked  and  in  poor 
health  :  her  heart  shrank  from  leaving  him ;  yet  her 
longing  for  England  increased  from  year  to  year.  Her 
visionary  castles,  she  said,  were  not  in  the  air,  but  on  the 
sea. 

In  1810  she  had  prepared  everything  for  flight,  when 
fresh  rigours  of  the  police  obliged  her  to  relinquish  her 
design.  In  1811  she  had  a  dangerous  illness,  and  was 
operated  upon  by  the  famous  surgeon,  Baron  de  Larrey, 
for  a  supposed  cancer.  In  the  summer  of  181 2,  when 
Napoleon  had  set  out  on  his  Russian  campaign,  she 
obtained    a   passport   for   America,   took   ship  with    her 


314     Madame  d' Arblay  Sails  from  Dunkirk. 

son  at  Dunkirk,  and  landed  at  Deal.  During  the  interval 
between  her  first  and  second  attempts  at  crossing,  all 
correspondence  with  England  was  prohibited  on  pain  of 
death.  One  letter  alone  reached  her,  announcing  in  brief 
terms  the  death  of  the  Princess  Amelia,  the  renewed  and 
hopeless  derangement  of  the  King,  and  the  death  of  Mr. 
Locke. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Madame  d'Arblay's  Plans  for  her  Son — Landing  in  England — Arrival  at 
Chelsea — Saddening  Change  in  Dr.  Burney — Alexander  d'Arblay  at  Cam- 
bridge— Publication  of  the  '  Wanderer ' — Death  of  Dr.  Burney — Madame 
d'Arblay  presented  to  Louis  XVIII. — M.  d'Arblay  appointed  to  the  Corps 
de  Gardes  du  Roi — Arrives  in  England  and  Carries  Madame  back  to  France 
— Madame  d'Arblay  presented  to  the  Duchess  d'Angouleme^The  Hundred 
Days  —Panic  at  Brussels — M.  d'Arblay  invalided — Settles  in  England — His 
Death — Remaining  Days  of  Madame  d'Arblay — Visit  from  Sir  Walter  Scott 
— The  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Burney — Tributes  to  their  Value — Death  of  Alexander 
d'Arblay — Death  of  Madame  d'Arblay — Conclusion. 

Madame  d'Arblay  had  other  reasons  for  wishing  to 
return  to  England  besides  the  mere  desire  to  see  her 
father  and  kindred.  The  longer  her  only  child  remained 
in  France,  the  greater  risk  he  ran  of  being  caught  by  the 
conscription,  which  continually  increased  its  demands. 
The  young  Alexander  was  now  of  an  age  to  be  prepared 
for  a  profession,  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  his  mother 
was  anxious  to  make  provision  for  this  purpose.  Before 
leaving  Paris,  she  had  begun  a  treaty  in  London  for  the 
publication  of  her  fourth  story.  Through  what  channel 
this  was  done  we  do  not  learn,  but  as  early  as  December, 
1811,  Lord  Byron*  had  heard  that  a  thousand  guineas 
were  being  asked  for  a  new  novel  by  Madame  d'Arblay. 
She  brought  the  manuscript  over  with  her  in  a  half- 
finished  state. 

The  travellers  did   not  escape  the  perils  of  the  time, 
though  happily  they  were  taken  prisoners  by  their  own 

*  Moore's  '  Life  of  Byron,'  Letters  78,  80. 


o 


1 6         Saddening  Change  in  Dr.   Burney, 


countrymen.  They  and  several  others  had  engaged  berths 
on  board  an  American  vessel,  the  astute  captain  of  which 
delayed  his  departure  so  long,  in  order  to  obtain  more 
passengers,  that  when  at  length  he  entered  British  waters, 
he  found  himself  a  prize  to  the  coastguard,  news  having 
just  arrived  that  the  United  States  had  declared  war 
against  England. 

It  was  the  middle  of  August  when  mother  and  son 
found  themselves  again  on  English  ground.  '  I  can  hardly 
believe  it,'  writes  the  former  to  her  sister  Charlotte,  now 
Mrs.  Broome  ;  '  I  look  around  me  in  constant  inquiry 
and  doubt ;  I  speak  French  to  ever}-  soul,  and  I  whisper 
still  if  I  utter  a  word  that  breathes  private  opinion.'  She 
goes  on  to  describe  her  meeting  with  her  father  :  '  I  found 
him  in  his  library  by  himself — but,  oh  !  my  dearest,  very 
much  altered  indeed — weak,  weak  and  changed — his  head 
almost  always  hanging  down,  and  his  hearing  most  cruelly 
impaired.  I  was  terribly  affected,  but  most  grateful  to 
God  for  my  arrival.'  During  the  separation.  Dr.  Burney 
had  not  been  unfortunate  until  the  infirmities  of  age 
overcame  him  :  the  pension  which  he  ought  to  have 
received  from  Mr.  Pitt  had  been  procured  for  him  by  Mr. 
Fox.  He  had  been  happily  employed  in  writing  for  Rees's 
Encyclopaedia ;  had  received  flattering  notice  from  the 
Prince  of  Wales  ;  had  heard  his  Royal  Highness  quote 
Homer  in  Greek  and  imitate  Dr.  Parr's  lisp,  and  talked 
familiarly  with  him  at  the  opera  ;  had  been  a  courted  guest 
in  many  great  houses ;  and  had  enjoyed  the  meetings  of  the 
Club  till  his  sight  and  hearing  both  began  to  fail.  When 
he  could  no  longer  go  abroad,  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
in  reading  in  his  bedroom.  Madame  d'Arblay  employed 
herself  during  this  visit  to  England  in  nursing  her  father 
in  his  last  days,  in  settling  her  son  at  Cambridge,  and  in 
bringing  out  her  new  book. 


Death  of  Dr.  Burney.  3 1 7 

Having  obtained  the  Tancred  scholarship,  Alexander 
d'Arblay  commenced  residence  at  Christ's  College,  Cam- 
bridge, in  October,  1813.  He  eventually  graduated  as 
tenth  Wrangler,  and  became  Fellow  of  his  college. 
'  But,'  says  Macaulay,  who  had  mixed  with  his  fellow- 
students,  '  his  reputation  at  the  University  was  higher 
than  might  be  inferred  from  his  success  in  academical 
contests.  His  French  education  had  not  fitted  him  for 
the  examinations  of  the  Senate  House  ;*  but  in  pure 
mathematics  we  have  been  assured  by  some  of  his  com- 
petitors that  he  had  very  few  equals.' 

'  The  Wanderer  ;  or,  Female  Difficulties  '  appeared  in 
the  beginning  of  1814.  Notwithstanding  the  falling-off 
which  had  been  observed  in  'Camilla,'  the  whole  edition  of 
the  new  work  was  bespoken  before  it  was  published.  In 
six  months,  3,600  copies  were  sold  at  two  guineas  a  copy. 
But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  most  conscientious 
reader  persevered  to  the  end  of  the  fifth  volume.  Ten 
years  of  exile  had  destroyed  all  trace  of  the  qualities 
which  made  '  Evelina '  popular. 

Dr.  Burney  lived  to  his  eighty-eighth  birthday,  and  died 
at  Chelsea  on  the  12th  of  April,  1814,  in  the  presence  of 
his  recovered  daughter,  who  had  tended  his  last  hours. 
A  tablet  to  his  memory,  bearing  an  inscription  from 
her  pen,  was  placed  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

A  few  days  after  his  death,  Madame  d'Arblay  was  pre- 
sented to  Louis  XVni.  By  desire  of  Queen  Charlotte, 
she  attended  a  reception  held  by  the  restored  King  in 
London  on  the  day  preceding  his  departure  for  France. 
Her  sovereign — for  it  must  be  remembered  that  she  was 
now   a    French    subject — paid   her   the    most    courteous 

*  He  had  studied  mathematics  in  Paris  according  to  the  analytical  method 
instead  of  the  geometrical,  which  was  at  that  time  exclusively  taught  at 
Cambridge. 


3i8  The  Hundred  Days. 

attention.  Addressing  her  '  in  very  prett}^  English,'  he 
told  her  that  he  had  known  her  long,  for  he  had  been 
charmed  with  her  books,  and  '  read  them  very  often.'  He 
bade  her  farewell  in  French,  with  the  words  '  Bonjour, 
Madame  la  Comtesse.' 

M.  d'Arblay  had  no  further  reason  to  complain  of 
Bourbon  ingratitude.  Within  a  few  weeks  he  received  a 
commission  in  the  King's  Corps  de  Gardes,  and  soon 
afterwards  he  was  restored  to  his  former  rank  of  Marechal 
de  Camp.  He  obtained  leave  of  absence  towards  the 
close  of  the  year,  and  came  to  England  for  a  few  weeks  ; 
after  which  Madame  d'Arblay  returned  with  him  to  Paris, 
leaving  their  son  to  pursue  his  studies  at  Cambridge. 

In  the  early  weeks  of  1815,  Madame  d'Arblay  was 
admitted  to  an  audience  of  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme, 
the  King's  niece  ;  close  on  which  followed  the  return  of 
Bonaparte  from  Elba,  and  the  Hundred  Days.  Neither  the 
General  nor  his  wife  seems  to  have  felt  any  alarm  till  the 
Corsican  reached  Lyons.  Then  a  passport  was  obtained 
for  Madame,  that  she  might  be  able  to  leave  France  in 
case  of  need,  while  her  husband  remained  fixed  to  his 
post  in  the  capital.  In  the  night  between  the  19th  and 
20th  of  March,  after  the  King  had  left  Paris,  and  not 
many  hours  before  Napoleon  entered  it,  Madame  d'Arblay 
took  her  departure,  accompanied  by  the  Princesse  d'Henin. 
After  many  difficulties  and  misadventures,  the  fugitives 
reached  Brussels.  In  that  city  Madame  d'Arblay  was 
presently  joined  by  her  husband,  who  had  followed 
Louis  XVIII.  to  Ghent  with  the  rest  of  the  royal  body- 
guard. She  remained  in  Brussels  till  the  close  of  the 
campaign,  and  for  some  weeks  longer.  At  a  later  date 
she  wrote  from  memory  a  narrative  of  what  befell  her 
during  this  period.  It  includes  a  description  of  the  scenes 
that  occurred  in  the  Belgian  capital  while  the  armies  were 


Panic  at  Brussels.  319 

facing  each  other  within  cannon-sound  of  its  streets.  The 
account  is  graphic,  though  too  diffuse  to  be  quoted  at 
length  ;  evidently  it  furnished  Thackeray  with  much  of  the 
material  for  the  famous  chapters  in  '  Vanity  Fair.'  We 
give  some  abridged  extracts  : 

"  What  a  day  of  confusion  and  alarm  did  we  all  spend 
on  the  17th  !  .  .  .  That  day,  and  June  i8th,  I  passed  in 
hearing  the  cannon  !  Good  Heaven  !  what  indescribable 
horror  to  be  so  near  the  field  of  slaughter  !  such  I  call  it, 
for  the  preparation  to  the  ear  by  the  tremendous  sound 
was  soon  followed  by  its  fullest  effect,  in  the  view  of  the 
wounded.  .  .  .  And  hardly  more  afflicting  was  this  dis- 
abled return  from  the  battle,  than  the  sight  of  the  con- 
tinually pouring  forth  victims  that  marched  past  my 
windows  to  meet  similar  destruction 

"  Accounts  from  the  field  of  battle  arrived  hourly ; 
sometimes  directly  from  the  Duke  of  WeUington  to  Lady 
Charlotte  Greville,  and  to  some  other  ladies  who  had 
near  relations  in  the  combat,  and  which,  by  their  means, 
were  circulated  in  Brussels ;  and  in  other  times  from 
such  as  conveyed  those  amongst  the  wounded  Belgians, 
whose  misfortunes  were  iniiicted  near  enough  to  the 
skirts  of  the  spots  of  action,  to  allow  of  their  being 
dragged  away  by  their  hovering  countrymen  to  the  city.  .  .  . 

"  During  this  period,  I  spent  my  whole  time  in  seeking 
intelligence.  .  .  . 

"  Ten  times,  at  least,  I  crossed  over  to  Madame 
d'Henin,  discussing  plans  and  probabilities,  and  inter- 
changing hopes  and  fears.  .  .  . 

"  Madame  d'Henin  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  du  Pin 
projected  retreating  to  Gand,  should  the  approach  of  the 
enemy  be  unchecked ;  to  avail  themselves  of  such  protec- 
tion as  might  be  obtained  from  seeking  it  under  the  wing 


320  Living  in  the  Streets. 

of  Louis  XVIII.     M.  de  la  Tour  du  Pin  had,  I  believe, 
remained  there  with  his  Majesty. 

"  M.   de   Lally  and    the    Boyds    inclined   to  Antwerp, 
where  they  might  safely  await  the  fate  of  Brussels,  nf  r 
enough   for  returning,  should  it  weather  the  storm,  }^ 
within  reach  of  vessels  to  waft  them  to  the  British  shores 
should  it  be  lost.  «'• 

"  Should  this  last  be  the  fatal  termination,  I,  of  course, 
had  agreed  to  join  the  party  of  the  voyage,  and  resolved 
to  secure  my  passport,  that,  while  I  waited  to  the  last 
moment,  I  might  yet  be  prepared  for  a  hasty  retreat. 

"  I  applied  for  a  passport  to  Colonel  Jones,  to  whom 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  had  deputed  the  military  com- 
mand of  Brussels  in  his  absence  ;  but  he  was  unwilling 
to  sanction  an  evacuation  of  Brussels,  which  he  deemed 
premature.  It  was  not,  he  said,  for  m,  the  English,  to 
spread  alarm,  or  prepare  for  an  overthrow :  he  had  not 
sent  away  his  own  wife  or  children,  and  he  had  no  doubt 
but  victory  would  repay  his  confidence.  .  .  . 

"  I  found  upon  again  going  my  rounds  for  information, 
that  though  news  was  arriving  incessantl}^  from  the  scene 
of  action,  and  with  details  always  varying,  Bonaparte 
was  always  advancing.  All  the  people  of  Brussels  lived 
in  the  streets.  Doors  seemed  of  no  use,  for  they  were 
never  shut.  The  individuals,  when  they  re-entered  their 
houses,  only  resided  at  the  windows  :  so  that  the  whole 
population  of  the  city  seemed  constantly  in  public  view. 
Not  only  business  as  well  as  society  was  annihilated,  but 
even  every  species  of  occupation.  All  of  which  we 
seemed  capable  was,  to  inquire  or  to  relate,  to  speak  or 
to  hear.  Yet  no  clamour,  no  wrangling,  nor  even  debate 
was  intermixed  with  either  question  or  answer ;  curiosity, 
though  incessant,  was  serene ;  the  faces  were  all  mono- 
tony, though  the  tidings  were  all  variety.     I  could  attri- 


The  Flight  from  Brussels.  321 

bute  this  only  to  the  length  of  time  during  which  the 
inhabitants  had  been  habituated  to  change  both  of 
masters  and  measures,  and  to  their  finding  that,  upon  an 

erage,  they  neither  lost  nor  gained  by  such  successive 

volutions  .... 

"But  what  a  day  was  the  next — June  18th — the  greatest, 
^.erhaps,  in  its  results,  in  the  annals  of  Great  Britain !  .  .  . 

"  I  was  calmly  reposing,  when  I  was  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  feet  abruptly  entering  my  drawing-room.  I 
started,  and  had  but  just  time  to  see  by  my  watch  that 
it  was  only  six  o'clock,  when  a  rapping  at  my  bedroom 
door  .  .  .  made  me  slip  on  a  long  kind  of  domino,  .  .  .  and 
demand  what  was  the  matter.  "  Open  your  door  !  there 
is  not  a  moment  to  lose !"  was  the  answer,  in  the  voice  of 
Miss  Ann  Boyd.  I  obeyed,  in  great  alarm,  and  saw  that 
pretty  and  pleasing  young  woman,  with  her  mother,  Mrs. 
Boyd.  .  .  .  They  both  eagerly  told  me  that  all  their  new 
hopes  had  been  overthrown  by  better  authenticated  news, 
and  that  I  must  be  with  them  by  eight  o'clock,  to  proceed 
to  the  wharf,  and  set  sail  for  Antwerp,  whence  we  must 
sail  on  for  England,  should  the  taking  of  Brussels  by 
Bonaparte  endanger  Antwerp  also.  .  .  , 

"  My  host  and  my  maid  carried  my  small  package,  and 
I  arrived  before  eight  in  the  Rue  d'Assault.  We  set  off 
for  the  wharf  on  foot,  not  a  fiacre  or  chaise  being  pro- 
curable. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boyd,  five  or  six  of  their  family, 
a  governess,  and  I  believe  some  servants,  with  bearers  of 
our  baggage,  made  our  part}'.  .  .  .  When  we  had  got  about 
a  third  part  of  the  way,  a  heavy  rumbling  sound  made  us 
stop  to  listen.  It  was  approaching  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  we  soon  found  that  we  were  followed  by  innumerable 
carriages,  and  a  multitude  of  persons.  .  .  . 

"  Arrived  at  the  wharf,  Mr.  Boyd  pointed  out  to  us  our 
barge,  which  seemed  fully  ready  for  departure  ;  but  the 

21 


32  2  Contradictory  Rimiours. 

crowd,  already  come  and  still  coming,  so  incommoded  us, 
that  Mr.  Boyd  desired  we  would  enter  a  large  inn,  and 
wait  till  he  could  speak  with  the  master,  and  arrange  our 
luggage  and  places.  We  went,  therefore,  into  a  spacious 
room  and  ordered  breakfast,  when  the  room  was  entered 
by  a  body  of  military  men  of  all  sorts ;  but  we  were 
suffered  to  keep  our  ground  till  Mr.  Boyd  came  to  inform 
us  that  we  must  all  decamp  !   .  .  . 

"  He  conducted  us  not  to  the  barge,  not  to  the  wharf, 
but  to  the  road  back  to  Brussels  ;  telling  us,  in  an  accent 
of  depression,  that  he  feared  all  was  lost — that  Bonaparte 
was  advancing — that  his  point  was  decidedly  Brussels— 
and  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had  sent  orders  that  all 
the  magazines,  the  artillery,  and  the  warlike  stores  of 
every  description,  and  all  the  wounded,  the  maimed,  and 
the  sick,  should  be  immediately  removed  to  Antwerp. 
For  this  purpose  he  had  issued  directions  that  every 
barge,  every  boat,  should  be  seized  for  the  use  of  the 
army ;  and  that  everything  of  value  should  be  conve3-ed 
away,  the  hospitals  emptied,  and  Brussels  evacuated. 

"  If  this  intelligence  filled  us  with  the  most  fearful 
alarm,  how  much  more  affrighting  still  was  the  sound  of 
cannon  which  next  assailed  our  ears  !  The  dread  rever- 
beration became  louder  and  louder  as  we  proceeded.  .  .  . 

"  Yet,  strange  to  relate  !  on  re-entering  the  city,  all 
seemed  quiet  and  tranquil  as  usual !  and  though  it  was  in 
this  imminent  and  immediate  danger  of  being  invested, 
and  perhaps  pillaged,  I  saw  no  outward  mark  of  distress 
or  disturbance,  or  even  of  hurry  or  curiosit}-. 

"  Having  re-lodged  us  in  the  Rue  d'Assault,  Mr.  Boyd 
tried  to  find  some  land  carriage  for  our  removal.  But 
not  only  every  chaise  had  been  taken,  and  every  diligence 
secured  ;  the  cabriolets,  the  caleches,  nay,  the  waggons 
and  the  carts,  and   every  species  of  caravan,  had  been 


A  Prisoner  of  War.  323 

seized  for  military  service.  And,  after  the  utmost  efforts 
he  could  make,  in  every  kind  of  way,  he  told  us  we  must 
wait  the  chances  of  the  day,  for  that  there  was  no  pos- 
sibility of  escape  from  Brussels,  either  by  land  or 
water.  .  .  . 

"  I  was  seated  at  my  bureau  and  writing,  when  a  loud 

*  hurrah  !'  reached  my  ears  from  some  distance,  while  the 
daughter  of  my  host,  a  girl  of  about  eighteen,  gently 
opening  my  door,  said  the  fortune  of  the  day  had 
suddenly  turned,  and  that  Bonaparte  was  taken  prisoner. 

"  At  the  same  time  the  '  hurrah  !'  came  nearer.  I  flew 
to  the  window ;  my  host  and  hostess  came  also,  crying, 

*  Bonaparte  est  pris  !  le  voild  !  le  voila  /' 

"  I  then  saw,  on  a  noble  war-horse  in  full  equipment,  a 
general  in  the  splendid  uniform  of  France ;  but  visibly 
disarmed,  and,  to  all  appearance,  tied  to  his  horse,  or,  at 
least,  held  on,  so  as  to  disable  him  from  making  any 
effort  to  gallop  it  off,  and  surrounded,  preceded,  and 
followed  by  a  crew  of  roaring  wretches,  who  seemed 
eager  for  the  moment  when  he  should  be  lodged  where 
they  had  orders  to  conduct  him,  that  they  might  unhorse, 
strip,  pillage  him,  and  divide  the  spoil. 

"  His  high,  feathered,  glittering  helmet  he  had  pressed 
down  as  low  as  he  could  on  his  forehead,  and  I  could  not 
discern  his  face ;  but  I  was  mstantly  certain  he  was  not 
Bonaparte,  on  finding  the  whole  commotion  produced  by 
the  rifling  crew  above-mentioned,  which,  though  it  might 
be  guided,  probably,  by  some  subaltern  officer,  who  might 
have  the  captive  in  charge,  had  left  the  field  of  battle  at 
a  moment  when  none  other  could  be  spared,  as  all  the 
attendant  throng  were  evidently  amongst  the  refuse  of 
the  army  followers. 

"  I  was  afterwards  informed  that  this  unfortunate 
general  was  the  Count  Lobau,  .  .  . 

21 — 2 


324  Reneived  Alarms. 

"  The  delusion  of  victory  vanished  into  a  merely  passing 
advantage,  as  I  gathered  from  the  earnest  researches  into 
which  it  led  me ;  and  evil  only  met  all  ensuing  investiga- 
tion ;  retreat  and  defeat  were  the  words  in  ever}'  mouth 
around  me !  The  Prussians,  it  was  asserted,  were  com- 
pletely vanquished  on  the  15th,  and  the  English  on  the 
i6th,  while  on  the  day  just  passed,  the  17th,  a  day  of 
continual  fighting  and  bloodshed,  drawn  battles  on  both 
sides  left  each  party  proclaiming  what  neither  party  could 
prove — success. 

"  It  was  Sunday ;  but  Church  service  was  out  of  the 
question,  though  never  were  prayers  more  frequent, 
more  fervent.  Form,  indeed,  they  could  not  have,  nor 
union,  while  constantly  expecting  the  enemy  with  fire 
and  sword  at  the  gates.  Who  could  enter  a  place  of 
worship,  at  the  risk  of  making  it  a  scene  of  slaughter  ? 
But  who,  also,  in  circumstances  so  awful,  could  require 
the  exhortation  of  a  priest,  or  the  example  of  a  con- 
gregation, to  stimulate  devotion  ?  No !  in  those  fearful 
exigencies,  where,  in  the  full  vigour  of  health,  strength, 
and  life's  freshest  resources,  we  seem  destined  to  abruptly 
quit  this  mortal  coil,  we  need  no  spur — all  is  spontaneous; 
and  the  soul  is  unshackled. 

"  Not  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  I  been  restored 
to  my  sole  occupation  of  solace,  before  I  was  again 
interrupted  and  startled  ;  but  not  as  on  the  preceding 
occasion  by  riotous  shouts  ;  the  sound  was  a  howl,  violent, 
loud,  affrighting,  and  issuing  from  many  voices.  I  ran  to 
the  window,  and  saw  the  Marche  aux  Bois  suddenly  filling 
with  a  populace,  pouring  in  from  all  its  avenues,  and 
hurrying  on  rapidly,  and  yet  as  if  unconscious  in  what 
direction  ;  while  women  with  children  in  their  arms,  or 
clinging  to  their  clothes,  ran  screaming  out  of  doors ; 
and  cries,  though   not  a  word  was  ejaculated,  filled  the 


The  French  Prisoners.  325 

air,  and  from  every  house,  I  saw  windows  closing,  and 
shutters  fastening ;  all  this,  though  long  in  writing,  was 
presented  to  my  eyes  in  a  single  moment,  and  was  followed 
in  another  by  a  burst  into  my  apartment,  to  announce 
that  the  French  were  come ! 

"  I  know  not  even  who  made  this  declaration  ;  my  head 
was  out  of  the  window,  and  the  person  who  made  it 
scarcely  entered  the  room  and  was  gone. 

"  How  terrific  was  this  moment !  My  perilous  situation 
urged  me  to  instant  flight ;  and,  without  waiting  to  speak 
to  the  people  of  the  house,  I  crammed  my  papers  and 
money  into  a  basket,  and  throwing  on  a  shawl  and 
bonnet,  I  flew  downstairs  and  out  of  doors. 

"  My  intention  was  to  go  to  the  Boyds,  to  partake,  as  I 
had  engaged,  their  fate  ;  but  the  crowd  were  all  issuing 
from  the  way  I  must  have  turned  to  have  gained  the  Rue 
d'Assault,  and  I  thought,  therefore,  I  might  be  safer  with 
Madame  de  Maurville,  who,  also,  not  being  English, 
might  be  less  obnoxious  to  the  Bonapartists.  .  .  . 

"What  a  dreadful  day  did  I  pass!  dreadful  in  the 
midst  of  its  glory  !  for  it  was  not  during  those  operations 
that  sent  details  partially  to  our  ears  that  we  could  judge 
of  the  positive  state  of  affairs,  or  build  upon  any  per- 
manency of  success.  Yet  here  I  soon  recovered  from  all 
alarm  for  personal  safety,  and  lost  the  horrible  apprehen- 
sion of  being  in  the  midst  of  a  city  that  was  taken,  sword 
in  hand,  by  an  enemy.  .  .  . 

"  The  alcrte  which  had  produced  this  effect,  I  afterwards 
learnt,  though  not  till  the  next  day,  was  utterly  false ;  but 
whether  it  had  been  produced  by  mistake  or  by  deceit  I 
never  knew.  The  French,  indeed,  were  coming  ;  but  not 
triumphantly  ;  they  were  prisoners,  surprised  and  taken 
suddenly,  and  brought  in,  being  disarmed,  by  an  escort ; 
and,  as  they  were  numerous,  and  their  French  uniform 


3 


2  6     Retire7nent  and  Death  of  M.  cV Arblay. 


was  discernible  from  afar,  the  almost  universal  belief  at 
Brussels  that  Bonaparte  was  invincible,  might  perhaps, 
without  any  intended  deception,  have  raised  the  report 
that  they  were  advancing  as  conquerors. 

**  I  attempt  no  description  of  this  day,  the  grandeur 
of  which  was  unknown,  or  unbelieved,  in  Brussels  till  it 
had  taken  its  flight,  and  could  only  be  named  as  time 
past." 

The  writer's  pleasure  at  the  success  of  the  Allies  was 
saddened  by  an  accident  which  happened  to  General 
d'Arblay,  who,  while  employed  in  raising  a  force  of  refugees 
at  Treves,  had  received  a  severe  wound  in  the  calf  of  his 
leg  from  the  kick  of  a  restive  horse.  This  misfortune 
impaired  still  further  a  constitution  already  weakened. 
Being  for  the  time  disabled  for  service,  and  having 
passed  his  sixtieth  year,  the  General  found  himself  placed 
on  the  retired  list,  and  obtained  leave  to  settle  with  his 
wife  in  England.  When  sent  on  a  mission  to  Blucher,  he 
had  been  honoured  by  his  master  with  the  title  of  Comte, 
which,  as  being  conferred  only  par  une  sorte  d'usage  de 
I'ancien  regime,  and  being  neither  established  by  patent, 
nor  connected  with  the  ownership  of  an  estate,  he  never 
used  after  the  occasion  on  which  it  was  given.  He  died 
at  Bath  on  May  3,  1818. 

Little  remains  to  be  told  of  the  life  of  Madame 
d'Arblay.  During  her  residence  at  Bath  she  renewed 
her  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Piozzi.  We  have  a  long  and 
entertaining  account  from  her  pen  of  an  escape  from 
drowning  which  she  met  with  while  staying  at  Ilfracombe. 
But  with  this  exception,  her  last  diaries  and  letters  con- 
tain little  of  interest.  Soon  after  the  death  of  her 
husband  she  removed  to  No.  11,  Bolton  Street,  Piccadilly. 
Her  latter  days  she  spent  chiefly  in  retirement,  seeing 


Memoirs  of  Dr.  Burney.  327 

few  persons  but  her  own  relations,  and  a  small  circle  of 
established  friends.  Among  the  latter  were  Mrs.  Locke 
and  the  poet  Rogers,  with  the  latter  of  whom  she 
had  made  acquaintance  on  her  first  return  from  France. 
She  was  delighted,  however,  by  a  visit  from  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  who  was  brought  to  her  by  Rogers.  Sir  Walter, 
in  his  Diary  for  November  18,  1826,  thus  records  the 
interview:  "Introduced  to  Madame  d'Arblay,  the  cele- 
brated authoress  of  '  Evelina '  and  '  Cecilia,'  an  elderly 
lady  with  no  remains  of  personal  beauty,  but  with  a 
simple  and  gentle  manner,  and  pleasing  expression  of 
countenance,  and  apparently  quick  feelings.  She  told  me 
she  had  wished  to  see  two  persons — myself,  of  course, 
being  one,  the  other  George  Canning.  This  was  really  a 
compliment  to  be  pleased  with — a  nice  little  handsome 
pat  of  butter  made  up  by  a  neat-handed  Philhs  of  a  dairy- 
maid, instead  of  the  grease  fit  onl}^  for  cart-wheels  which 
one  is  dosed  with  by  the  pound.  I  trust  I  shall  see  this 
lady  again." 

From  the  year  1828  to  1832,  she  occupied  herself  in  com- 
piling the  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Burney.  This  book,  published 
in  her  eightieth  year,  has  all  the  faults  of  her  later  style, 
in  their  most  aggravated  form.  But  her  friend  Bishop 
Jebb,  while  gently  hinting  at  these  defects,  could  honestly 
congratulate  her  on  the  merit  of  her  work.  "  Much  as 
we  already  know  of  the  last  age,  you  have  brought  many 
scenes  of  it,  not  less  animated  than  new,  graphically 
before  our  eyes  ;  whilst  I  now  seem  familiar  with  many 
departed  worthies,  who  were  not  before  known  to  me, 
■even  so  much  as  by  name."  Southey  also  wrote  to  her 
son :  "  '  Evelina '  did  not  give  me  more  pleasure,  when  I 
was  a  schoolboy,  than  these  Memoirs  have  given  me  now; 
and  this  is  saying  a  great  deal.  Except  Boswell's,  there 
is  no  other  work  in  our  language  which  carries  us  into 


328  Death  of  Madame  ci" Arblay. 

such  society,  and  makes  us  fancy  that  we  are  acquainted 
with  the  persons  to  whom  we  are  there  introduced." 

In  January,  1837,  she  lost  the  last  prop  of  her  old  age. 
Alexander  d'Arblay,  having  taken  Orders  soon  after  his 
degree,  became  minister  of  Ely  Chapel  in  1836,  and  was 
about  to  marry,  when  he  was  carried  off  by  an  attack  of 
influenza.  His  mother  survived  him  nearly  three  years : 
she  had  a  severe  illness,  attended  by  spectral  illusions,  in 
November,  1839 ;  and  died  in  London  on  January  6, 
1840 — a  day  which  she  had  observed  from  the  beginning 
of  the  century  in  memory  of  the  death  of  her  sister 
Susanna.  She  was  buried  at  Walcot,  near  Bath,  by  the 
side  of  her  husband  and  their  only  child. 

Except  for  the  production  of  the  "  Memoirs,"  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century  in  Madame  d'Arblay's  life  was  barren 
both  of  incident  and  employment.  The  details  of  her 
experience  during  the  preceding  fifteen  years  could  not 
fail  to  interest  us,  if  we  had  them  related  as  she  would 
have  told  them  in  her  prime.  Especially,  we  should 
like  to  know  something  more  about  that  long  detention 
in  France,  when  chafing  under  police  restrictions,  and 
fretting  for  news  from  home,  her  heart  vibrated  to  the 
continual  echoes  of  cannon  announcing  Napoleon's 
victories.  But  Fanny  married,  and  growing  elderly,  was 
quite  a  different  person  from  the  Fanny  of  St.  Martin's 
Street  and  Chesington,  of  Streatham  and  Bath,  of 
Windsor  and  Kew.  Her  Diary  proper  came  to  a  final 
stop  with  the  death  of  Mrs.  Phillips  in  1800.  She  will 
always  be  remembered  as  Frances  Burney  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Deriving  her  inspiration  in  part  fmm 
Richardson,  she  heads  the  roll  of  those  female  novelists 
whose  works  form  a  considerable  part  of  English 
literature.  The  purity  of  her  writings  first  made  the 
circulating  Hbrary  respectable.     "  We  owe  to  her,"  says 


Conclusion,  329 

Macaulay  very  justly,  "  not  only  *  Evelina,'  *  Cecilia,' 
and  '  Camilla,'  but  '  Mansfield  Park,'  and  the  '  Absentee.' 
Yet  great  as  was  her  influence  on  her  successors,*  it  was 
exhausted  before  the  present  century  began.  Indeed,  it 
has  been  suggested,  with  some  reason,  that  the  excessive 
sensibility  of  her  heroines  is  answerable  for  a  reaction  in 
Miss  Edgeworth  and  Miss  Austen  ;  for  the  too  great 
amount  of  bright  and  cold  good  sense  of  the  first ;  for  the 
over-sobriety  of  feeling  of  the  second. t  Fanny's  genius 
for  expressing  character  in  dialogue,  aided  by  touches  of 
description,  placed  her  among  the  first  memoir-writers  of 
that  journalizing  age.  A  little  more  power  of  compres- 
sion would  have  made  her  diaries  equal  to  the  best  of 
Boswell's  sketches. 

"The  author  herself,"  says  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  "with 
her  insatiable  delight  in  compliments — certainly  such  as 
might  well  turn  her  head — her  quick  observation  and 
lively  garrulity,  her  effusion  of  sentiment  rather  lively 
than  deep,  but  never  insincere,  her  vehement  prejudices 
corrected  by  flashes  of  humour,  is  always  amusing."  We 
may  assent  to  every  word  of  this  sentence,  and  yet  feel 
that  it  does  its  subject  something  less  than  justice.  We 
trust  that  our  readers  have  found  Fanny  amusing ;  we 
trust  also  that  they  have  recognised  in  her  the  possession 
of  some  higher  qualities.  If  she  was  vain,  her  egotism 
was  of  the  most  innocent  kind.  It  was  more  harmless 
than  Goldsmith's,  for  we  cannot  recall  in  her  utterances  a 
single  envious  or  jealous  remark.  Of  how  many  self- 
conscious  authors  can  the  like  be  said  ?  The  simple  love 
of  praise  which  led  her  to  entertain  her  acquaintance  with 
what  was  said  about  herself,  has  assisted  to  render  her 

*  Miss  Austen  took  the  title  of  'Pride  and  Prejudice '  from  some  words  on 
the  last  page  of  '  Cecilia.' 

+  Introduction  to  '  Evelina '  by  Annie  Raine  Ellis. 


330  Conclusion. 

interesting  to  a  wider  circle.  "  Vain  glory,"  says  Bacon 
quaintly,  "  helpeth  to  perpetuate  a  man's  memory :  like 
unto  varnish  that  makes  ceilings  not  only  shine,  but  last." 
If  she  had  strong  prejudices,  they  were  free  from  every 
taint  of  personal  malevolence.  Her  dislike  of  the  Opposi- 
tion resembled  Johnson's  professed  hatred  of  the  Scotch, 
at  which  the  doctor  himself  used  to  laugh.  She  goes  to 
the  trial  of  Hastings,  full  of  zeal  for  his  cause,  and  spends 
her  time  there  chiefly  in  conversing  with  his  prosecutors. 
And  however  prejudiced  on  some  points,  she  was  far 
from  narrow-minded  on  many  matters  of  controversy. 
Though  brought  up  a  strict  Protestant,  she  married  a 
Roman  Catholic.  Though  to  the  end  of  her  days  an 
attached  daughter  of  the  English  Church,  she  expresses 
unqualified  esteem  for  the  piety  of  those  very  pronounced 
dissenters,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbauld.  The  sympathy 
between  herself  and  her  own  family  was  at  all  times  per- 
fect. There  were  no  rivalries  among  them.  "  I  am  sure," 
she  wrote  modestly  in  1800,  "  my  dear  father  will  not 
think  I  mean  to  parallel  our  works."  She  was  extremely 
pleased  when  Queen  Charlotte  declared  a  tale  published 
by  her  half-sister  Sarah  to  be  "  very  pretty."  Her 
faithfulness  to  duty  and  her  friends  was  celebrated  by  her 
royal  mistress  in  the  saying  that  Miss  Burney  was  "  true 
as  gold."  When  she  had  cast  in  her  lot  with  her  Chevalier, 
no  isolation,  no  privation,  no  anxiety  for  the  future  could 
make  her  repine.  "  I  never  forget,"  she  wrote  in  her 
poverty,  "  Dr.  Johnson's  words.  When  somebody  said 
that  a  certain  person  had  no  turn  for  economy,  he 
answered,  '  Sir,  you  might  as  well  say  that  he  has  no 
turn  for  honesty.'  "  Whatever  cavils  have  been  raised 
by  Croker  and  one  or  two  like-minded  detractors,  no 
artifice  or  indirect  dealing  can  be  laid  to  her  charge,  even 
in  literary  matters,  in  regard  to  which  such  manoeuvres 


Conclusion.  331 

are  too  often  deemed  excusable.  We  are  not  holding  her 
up  as  a  pattern  of  elevated  or  extraordinary  virtue.  She 
was  simply  the  best  representative  of  a  worthy  and 
amiable  family  who  had  been  trained  in  the  school  of 
Samuel  Johnson.  That  type  of  character  has  passed 
away.  The  rugged  old  dictator's  political  creed  is  unin- 
telligible to  the  present  age ;  his  devotion  is  taken  for 
superstition  or  formalism ;  his  canons  of  criticism  are 
obsolete.  His  disciples  felt  nothing  of  what  was  stirring 
in  the  air.  They  were  but  little  accessible  to  fresh  ideas. 
The  cause  of  popular  freedom,  the  Evangelical  movement 
in  religion,  the  romantic  spirit  in  poetry  appealed  to  them 
with  the  smallest  effect.  They  were  zealous  for  authority; 
they  were  not  in  the  least  introspective ;  when  the}- 
wanted  a  line  or  two  of  verse,  they  nearly  always  went  to 
Pope  for  it.  The  speculations,  the  problems  of  the 
modern  world  were  all  unknown  to  them.  They  were  far 
less  inclined  to  embrace  new  dogmas  of  faith  or  agnosticism 
than  to  observe  old  rules  of  action.  Yet  when  we  read 
the  annals  of  the  Burneys — the  accomplished,  the  genial, 
self-respecting,  conscientious,  pious  Burneys — may  we 
not  be  pardoned  for  thinking  that  there  was  a  good  deal, 
after  all,  in  those  antiquated  Johnsonian  principles  ? 


THE    END. 


BILLING    AND   SONS,    I'RINTERS,    GUILDFORD. 


l-IBRAllY 


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